GILDEROY LOCKHART
“Gave you a taste for publicity, didn’t I?” said Lockhart. “Gave
you the bug. You got onto the front page of the paper with me and
you couldn’t wait to do it again.”
“Oh, no, Professor, see —”
“Harry, Harry, Harry,” said Lockhart, reaching out and grasping
his shoulder. “I understand. Natural to want a bit more once you’ve
had that first taste — and I blame myself for giving you that, be-
cause it was bound to go to your head — but see here, young man,
you can’t start flying cars to try and get yourself noticed. Just calm
down, all right? Plenty of time for all that when you’re older. Yes,
yes, I know what you’re thinking! ‘It’s all right for him, he’s an in-
ternationally famous wizard already!’ But when I was twelve, I was
just as much of a nobody as you are now. In fact, I’d say I was even
more of a nobody! I mean, a few people have heard of you, haven’t
they? All that business with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!” He
glanced at the lightning scar on Harry’s forehead. “I know, I
know — it’s not quite as good as winning Witch Weekly’s Most-
Charming-Smile Award five times in a row, as I have — but it’s a
start, Harry, it’s a start.”
He gave Harry a hearty wink and strode off. Harry stood
stunned for a few seconds, then, remembering he was supposed to
be in the greenhouse, he opened the door and slid inside.
Professor Sprout was standing behind a trestle bench in the cen-
ter of the greenhouse. About twenty pairs of different-colored ear-
muffs were lying on the bench. When Harry had taken his place
between Ron and Hermione, she said, “We’ll be repotting Man-
drakes today. Now, who can tell me the properties of the Man-
drake?”
To nobody’s surprise, Hermione’s hand was first into the air.
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