DOBBY’S REWARD
Ron opened his mouth in horror.
“Which goes to show that the best of us must sometimes eat our
words,” Dumbledore went on, smiling. “You will both receive Spe-
cial Awards for Services to the School and — let me see — yes, I
think two hundred points apiece for Gryffindor.”
Ron went as brightly pink as Lockhart’s valentine flowers and
closed his mouth again.
“But one of us seems to be keeping mightily quiet about his part
in this dangerous adventure,” Dumbledore added. “Why so mod-
est, Gilderoy?”
Harry gave a start. He had completely forgotten about Lockhart.
He turned and saw that Lockhart was standing in a corner of the
room, still wearing his vague smile. When Dumbledore addressed
him, Lockhart looked over his shoulder to see who he was talking
to.
“Professor Dumbledore,” Ron said quickly, “there was an
accident down in the Chamber of Secrets. Professor Lockhart —”
“Am I a professor?” said Lockhart in mild surprise. “Goodness. I
expect I was hopeless, was I?”
“He tried to do a Memory Charm and the wand backfired,” Ron
explained quietly to Dumbledore.
“Dear me,” said Dumbledore, shaking his head, his long silver
mustache quivering. “Impaled upon your own sword, Gilderoy!”
“Sword?” said Lockhart dimly. “Haven’t got a sword. That boy
has, though.” He pointed at Harry. “He’ll lend you one.”
“Would you mind taking Professor Lockhart up to the infir-
mary, too?” Dumbledore said to Ron. “I’d like a few more words
with Harry. . . .”
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