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The
door
flew
open
at
once
.
Lockhart
beamed
down
at
him
.
"
Ah
,
here
's
the
scalawag
!
"
he
said
.
"
Come
in
,
Harry
,
come
in
--
"
Shining
brightly
on
the
walls
by
the
light
of
many
candles
were
countless
framed
photographs
of
Lockhart
.
He
had
even
signed
a
few
of
them
.
Another
large
pile
lay
on
his
desk
.
"
You
can
address
the
envelopes
!
"
Lockhart
told
Harry
,
as
though
this
was
a
huge
treat
.
"
This
first
one
's
to
Gladys
Gudgeon
,
bless
her
-
huge
fan
of
mine
--
"
The
minutes
snailed
by
.
Harry
let
Lockhart
's
voice
wash
over
him
,
occasionally
saying
,
"
Mmm
"
and
"
Right
"
and
"
Yeah
.
"
Now
and
then
he
caught
a
phrase
like
,
"
Fame
's
a
fickle
friend
,
Harry
,
"
or
"
Celebrity
is
as
celebrity
does
,
remember
that
.
"
The
candles
burned
lower
and
lower
,
making
the
light
dance
over
the
many
moving
faces
of
Lockhart
watching
him
.
Harry
moved
his
aching
hand
over
what
felt
like
the
thousandth
envelope
,
writing
out
Veronica
Smethley
's
address
.
It
must
be
nearly
time
to
leave
,
Harry
thought
miserably
,
please
let
it
be
nearly
time
...
And
then
he
heard
something
-
something
quite
apart
from
the
spitting
of
the
dying
candles
and
Lockhart
's
prattle
about
his
fans
.
It
was
a
voice
,
a
voice
to
chill
the
bone
marrow
,
a
voice
of
breathtaking
,
ice-cold
venom
.
