CHAPTER EIGHT not brightly lit. “My name is Winky, sir — and you, sir —” Her dark brown eyes widened to the size of side plates as they rested upon Harry’s scar. “You is surely Harry Potter!” “Yeah, I am,” said Harry. “But Dobby talks of you all the time, sir!” she said, lowering her hands very slightly and looking awestruck. “How is he?” said Harry. “How’s freedom suiting him?” “Ah, sir,” said Winky, shaking her head, “ah sir, meaning no dis- respect, sir, but I is not sure you did Dobby a favor, sir, when you is setting him free.” “Why?” said Harry, taken aback. “What’s wrong with him?” “Freedom is going to Dobby’s head, sir,” said Winky sadly. “Ideas above his station, sir. Can’t get another position, sir.” “Why not?” said Harry. Winky lowered her voice by a half-octave and whispered, “He is wanting paying for his work, sir.” “Paying?” said Harry blankly. “Well — why shouldn’t he be paid?” Winky looked quite horrified at the idea and closed her fingers slightly so that her face was half-hidden again. “House-elves is not paid, sir!” she said in a muffled squeak. “No, no, no. I says to Dobby, I says, go find yourself a nice family and settle down, Dobby. He is getting up to all sorts of high jinks, sir, what is unbecoming to a house-elf. You goes racketing around like this, Dobby, I says, and next thing I hear you’s up in front of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, like some common goblin.” “Well, it’s about time he had a bit of fun,” said Harry. “House-elves is not supposed to have fun, Harry Potter,” said ‘ 98 ‘