It was Christmas at Hogwarts, and Dobby the House-Elf was more excited than Harry had ever seen him. More excited, even, than when he had first been granted his freedom.

 "Six socks! Six socks, Harry Potter!" Dobby piped in his loudest whisper. "Six socks socks six socks!" he sang. With five long rugby socks on one foot, and three overlapping on the other, and one long dangly sock on either of his long dangly ears, Dobby capered wildly from foot to foot in the shredded remains of the wrapping paper from which the six new additions to his collection had emerged.

  Eventually, excitement, and his inability to feel the floor through his thick, uneven woollen club feet, got the better of Dobby, and he pitched forward into the fire that was roaring in the dormitory hearth, scattering chestnuts everywhere.

  "Waarrrgh! Dobby is on fire, Harry Potter!" he screamed. "Dobby's head is on fire, Harry Potter! Oh Harry Potter it hurtsithurtsithurts! Oh help Harry Potter! All Dobby's socks will be ruined!"

  Dobby tried to lift himself out of the fire, but he tripped as the hot chestnuts underfoot rolled away, and fell face-first back in among the kindling. By now, his right ear, crisping up nicely, was starting to show through the charred tatters of the rugby sock which he had put on – needlessly, now – to keep his ears warm.

  But it was not Dobby's lucky day. His shrill screams were drowned  by the roar of the fire – which had been enchanted, as a Christmas treat, to roar extra-loudly – and by the merry laughter of Harry and Ron as, oblivious on Harry's bed, they made their way through an entire delicous box of the latest Bertie Bott novelty: Temporary Deafness Toffees.

  "Oh," said Hermione, later, when she went to retrieve some chestnuts. "Oh, look, Harry. Look, Ron. Poor Dobby." By then, alas, it was too late.