"Although he has always misunderstood me," Lockhart continued, pausing for the briefest instant on the word "misunderstood," so brief it was almost nonexistent, "I don't blame him. So—" He pushed the wooden box forward another half inch. "—I think it would be most appropriate for you to give him this gift."
Harry's gaze fell on the wooden box. His fingers twitched, but he did not reach for it. As though he had expected that reaction, Lockhart added, "Wait until he comes back and let him take it himself. Surprises should be saved for last, shouldn't they?" He withdrew his hand and placed the box on the corner of the table closest to Harry, making sure Harry could reach it without bending down or taking a step.
Then he straightened up, his movements crisp, as though the main thread of the conversation had already reached its end and all that remained was the closing ritual.
"All right, enough of this melancholy." His voice regained its lightness, like a curtain being drawn open once more. "Cairo's mysterious adventures are calling to me. The time is almost here." He picked up his suitcase, his robes tracing a perfect arc as he turned.
Lockhart walked to the door, his boot heel stopping at the edge of the threshold. He did not turn around.
"Goodbye, children." His voice drifted over from ahead and to the side, without its previous deliberate warmth, more like a few words casually tossed back by someone who had already turned away. "Especially you, Mr. Potter. One piece of advice—remember it well: believe in yourself, but beware the 'light' you see. The boundary of a hero has never been as clear as you imagine. May Merlin bless you."
His footsteps rang out, stretching westward along the corridor, each one farther away