He pulled open the rail, stepped through, then stood where he was, letting the people beside him, still gathering up documents and cameras, pass by.
Lockhart did not return to his seat. He stood on the open floor between the defendant's stand and the gallery, his hands hanging at his sides, fingers slightly spread, like someone who had just emerged from the water and had not yet fully determined where he was standing.
He was merely waiting—waiting for those Wizengamot members to come over and offer their hands, waiting for them to speak the carefully worded lines he had already read in Lucius's letter as they shook hands.
"Professor Lockhart, your courage deserves recognition." The first to approach was a gray-haired wizard. His fingers rested in Lockhart's palm for two seconds without applying much force. "Those papers will have a far-reaching impact on the younger generation."
"Thank you," Lockhart said.
"Your insights into Defense Against the Dark Arts deserve greater attention." The second was a short witch, the silver chain around her neck reflecting slanted flecks of light beneath the lamps.
As she shook his hand, a thin chain on the inside of her wrist slipped out past her cuff. Its links were fine and dense, like a braided wrist cord. "I hope you will continue contributing these achievements to the Wizarding World."
"I will," Lockhart said.
The third person said nothing, merely nodding once. The outer edge of the person's palm bore a small patch of callused skin, as though worn down by long hours of gripping a quill or wand, and the knuckles were unusually large. Lockhart felt that callus scrape across the edge of his hand, like being brushed by a piece of dried bark.
The person did not linger, walking around him as soon as the