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- Джоан Роулинг
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- Гарри Поттер и Дары Смерти
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- Стр. 179/732
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"
In
the
cabinet
in
the
drawing
room
.
Nobody
could
open
it
.
And
we
...
we
...
"
Harry
felt
as
though
a
brick
had
slid
down
through
his
chest
into
his
stomach
.
He
remembered
:
He
had
even
handled
the
thing
as
they
passed
it
around
,
each
trying
in
turn
to
prise
it
open
.
It
had
been
tossed
into
a
sack
of
rubbish
,
along
with
the
snuffbox
of
Wartcap
powder
and
the
music
box
that
had
made
everyone
sleepy
...
"
Kreacher
nicked
loads
of
things
back
from
us
,
"
said
Harry
.
It
was
the
only
chance
,
the
only
slender
hope
left
to
them
,
and
he
was
going
to
cling
to
it
until
forced
to
let
go
.
"
He
had
a
whole
stash
of
stuff
in
his
cupboard
in
the
kitchen
.
C'mon
.
"
He
ran
down
the
stairs
taking
two
steps
at
a
time
,
the
other
two
thundering
along
in
his
wake
.
They
made
so
much
noise
that
they
woke
the
portrait
of
Sirius
's
mother
as
they
passed
through
the
hall
.
"
Filth
!
Mudbloods
!
Scum
!
"
she
screamed
after
them
as
they
dashed
down
into
the
basement
kitchen
and
slammed
the
door
behind
them
.
Harry
ran
the
length
of
the
room
,
skidded
to
a
halt
at
the
door
of
Kreacher
's
cupboard
,
and
wrenched
it
open
.
There
was
the
nest
of
dirty
old
blankets
in
which
the
house-elf
had
once
slept
,
but
they
were
no
longer
glittering
with
the
trinkets
Kreacher
had
salvaged
.
The
only
thing
there
was
an
old
copy
of
Nature
's
Nobility
:
A
Wizarding
Genealogy
.
Refusing
to
believe
his
eyes
,
Harry
snatched
up
the
blankets
and
shook
them
.
A
dead
mouse
fell
out
and
rolled
dismally
across
the
floor
.
Ron
groaned
as
he
threw
himself
into
a
kitchen
chair
;
Hermione
closed
her
eyes
.
"
It
's
not
over
yet
,
"
said
Harry
,
and
he
raised
his
voice
and
called
,
"
Kreacher
!
"
There
was
a
loud
crack
and
the
house-elf
that
Harry
had
so
reluctantly
inherited
from
Sirius
appeared
out
of
nowhere
in
front
of
the
cold
and
empty
fireplace
:
tiny
,
half
human-sized
,
his
pale
skin
hanging
off
him
in
folds
,
white
hair
sprouting
copiously
from
his
batlike
ears
.
He
was
still
wearing
the
filthy
rag
in
which
they
had
first
met
him
,
and
the
contemptuous
look
he
bent
upon
Harry
showed
that
his
attitude
to
his
change
of
ownership
had
altered
no
more
than
his
outfit
.
"
Master
,
"
croaked
Kreacher
in
his
bullfrog
's
voice
,
and
he
bowed
low
,
muttering
to
his
knees
,
"
back
in
my
Mistress
's
old
house
with
the
blood-traitor
Weasley
and
the
Mudblood
--
"
