“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 a 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, Master,” said Kreacher with a bow, and he retreated a short distance, his great pale eyes still fixed upon Mundungus with loathing.

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows – J. K. Rowling