Lockart smiled to himself as the proximity alert on his door sounded a soft chime. Someone was approaching with the intent to enter. He waited patiently for the knock, saying, "Door-knocker, say, 'Professor Lockhart will be with you in a moment.'" He studied the mirror on the inside of his door, reflecting what the Door-knocker's eyes saw.
He couldn't help but laugh at the despondent expression on Harry Potter's face. It had been absolutely ace taking the micky out of the boy prior to his Herbology class. As a prank, it certainly approached the top of the chart.
He thought Harry was going to bust a seam when he had said, Gave you a taste for publicity, didn't I? And the way Harry's eyes had bugged out when he said, I mean, a few people have heard of you, haven't they?
And then . . . and then . . . Colin Creevey's set up! Another fantastic line: There may well come a time when, like me, you'll need to keep a stack handy wherever you go, but I don't think you're quite there yet. He thought poor Harry was about to have a coronary! And his face had been as red as Ron's hair. Harry/Gilderoy had laughed himself silly once he arrived back in his office. Good grief, it was like shooting fish in a barrel.
And then in the actual classroom, via the listening charm he had placed on the The-Boy-Who-Lived's robes, he had heard Ron say, You'd better hope Creevey doesn't meet Ginny, or they'll be starting a Harry Potter fan club. Ha! He had forgotten about that. Now, there was an opportunity! A few words to a couple of the more impressionable Firsties, and viola! He could even volunteer to be the staff advisor for their little club. The pranking potential was astronomical!
He added a few notes to his list and then put the scroll in his desk drawer. He walked over and opened to the door, smiling broadly. "Ah, here's the scalawag!" he said. "Come in, Harry, come in —"
"You can address the envelopes!" Lockhart told Harry, as though this was a huge treat, pointing at the box of envelopes on his desk, beside the huge stack of photographs. "This first one is to Gladys Gudgeon, bless her — huge fan of mine —"
The time flew by for Lockhart. He made sure to talk softly, as if he were offering real advice to the boy, saying things that sounded ridiculous and that only amateurs might pay attention to, like, "Fame's a fickle friend, Harry," "Celebrity is as celebrity does, remember that," "It's not what you know but who," and "Always make a proper entrance."
But for the professional, who knew he was always on stage, these were actually vitally important. Harry would gradually realize that the advice he snorted at today was actually quite essential for the successful politician, businessman, or sports hero. If you acted with confidence people assumed you knew what you were doing and trusted you, even if you were completely lost as to what was really happening! And people were always watching you when you were an important or popular figure.
After a couple of hours, he pushed the stack of finished mail into a box, and moved the photographs and unused envelopes to another. "There now," he said.
Harry looked at him blearily.
"Now that the 'fun' stuff is over, we have some real business to discuss." Sadly, Harry had learned that Lockhart really did enjoy autographing his books and photographs. It was soothing and relaxing to the man. Harry used the opportunity to think about other things while letting his Gilderoy side run on autopilot.
Harry Lockhart leaned back in his chair and studied the tired student lightly shaking his weary fingers.
"In all seriousness, Harry, you cannot let your fame drag you along in its wake, like a helpless leaf caught in the wind. I realized when I was a student here at Hogwarts that you have to seize control of your fate, or it will make your life miserable. And I am more than happy to help you navigate those treacherous waters, for it is all too easy for fame to slip from your grasp and leave you as a has-been, a nobody. You have to work at being famous."
The black-haired boy frowned at him. The professor could just about read his mind. 'Now what is the twit going on about?'
He leaned over, picked up, and placed a pile of thin books on the desk. "Do you know what these are, Harry?" he asked softly.
The boy looked at them briefly, and then made a disgusted face. "Those . . . fakes."
"Precisely, my boy, precisely," said Gilderoy. "And do you realize that the publishers and authors of those tomes are getting rich off of you?" The boy looked up at him, astonished. "That's right, they have stolen your name, your face, your fame, and are making money hand over fist." The boy frowned at him. "And all the while telling lies about you to the gullible public.
"Now it's okay to exaggerate your deeds on occasion, everyone expects that. But to portray pure fantasy as the truth? Well, that will only backfire on you in the worst possible way.
"How many times have you run into someone who said, 'Oh, I've read all the Harry Potter adventure books, it must be wonderful to live in castle. Do you really have a dragon for a pet?'
"Or, worse, to let stand as fact things you know are lies, such as what happened on October 31st, 1981."
The Wizard watched Harry stiffen. "There are history books — Modern Magical History, The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century, to name just three — that purport to tell what happened that fateful night. You and I know they are all lies. No one alive knows what exactly happened that night.
"From the evidence and spell residue we can make conjectures as to the sequence of events, but what was actually said and what really happened? No one knows. Nor does anyone know what your life was like after that incident. Yet these books . . ." He waved his hand at the stack on the table, ". . . all claim to tell the unvarnished truth. According to these . . . frauds, you grew up with a loving foster family, with older foster brothers and younger foster sisters who all adore you, in a castle hidden somewhere safe where you have many adventures because you're just that sort of kid who can't help falling into thrilling escapades. And they are all lies, aren't they?"