She huffed, and she picked up the mug of too-hot tea and she stomped her way to the room that was to be Jean's.  It had a window no one over the age of five would fit through, a small private toilet, and a narrow bed.  It also had a lot of dust.   Kreacher slouched past, his shoulders bent under the weight of the world, but he didn't offer to help.  He seemed to hate the room even more than he hated most things.  She decided not to think too hard about why.  