CHAPTER SEVEN
“ 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.
“ Come... come to me.... Let me rip you.... Let me tear you.... Let me kill you....”
Harry gave a huge jump and a large lilac blot appeared on
Veronica Smethley’ s street.“ What?” he said loudly.“ I know!” said Lockhart.“ Six solid months at the top of the best-seller list! Broke all records!”“ No,” said Harry frantically.“ That voice!”“ Sorry?” said Lockhart, looking puzzled.“ What voice?”“ That— that voice that said— didn’ t you hear it?” Lockhart was looking at Harry in high astonishment.
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