"Professor? Do you have a moment?" Hermione looked at Lockhart's "busy packing" back, pressed her lips together, and greeted him softly.
Lockhart was bending over, stuffing several books into the side pocket of his suitcase. Hearing her, he straightened and turned around.
Before he had fully turned, the change in his expression was complete in an instant. The tired, sun-dried blankness on his face seemed to melt like a thin layer of ice under warmth, swiftly flowing, setting, and taking shape again.
The corners of his mouth lifted, the lines at his eyes opened, and his brows rose slightly—the precise balance between the three returned. It was the face Gilderoy Lockhart wore before cameras and before the world.
Anyone who saw him would have said—ah, what a flawless, open-hearted, sincere smile.
"Ah! Harry! Ron! Hermione!" His voice brimmed with "surprise," and he struck just the right note of pre-farewell melancholy, neither overly dramatic nor cold.
"Did you come especially to say goodbye and see me off? How touching!" He hurried over, warmly spreading his arms as if he had met old friends after a long separation.
The scarf slipped from his hand onto the edge of the suitcase, one end dangling and swaying gently in the air.
Ron's reaction was the most interesting. The instant Lockhart spread his arms and walked toward him, Ron's face flushed red—the color climbed from the base of his neck, over his chin, cheekbones, and ears, like a handkerchief soaked through with water. His body retreated half a step, but before that foot could settle, his upper body involuntarily leaned forward just a little.
The contradictory movement made him look like a tree being blown in two directions at once by a fierce wind.
His arms lifted, passively accepting the hug—Lockhart's arms had already gone