Alone at last, Gilderoy Lockhart gazed into the mirror. His reflection gazed back: immaculately coiffed hair, shining white teeth, bright blue eyes. He was perfect. And it frightened him.
Not the perfection itself, of course; that was what he needed, a creation he had carefully cultivated in his search for fame and glory. It was something of his trademark: tame the savage beast while still looking like a million galleons. No, he feared the possibility of losing it, a crack in the mask that would lead to his downfall.
He had everything that he had always wanted - the fame, the adulation, powerful people coming to him for help. But deep down inside, he knew it was all a lie, and he couldn't help but feel that one day, his lovingly constructed house of cards would all come crashing down.
He was careful, of course. He hid his tracks with memory charms, one thing he had always been good at. He performed his deeds in far-off places, where he could be almost certain not to encounter anyone from his 'real' life. He kept up a nightly regimen of beauty exercises and creams, and never left his bedroom with so much as a hair out of place.
But still the thought nagged at him - what if someone found out? He couldn't bear to imagine it - the ridicule, the fall from grace, the faces of his former fans twisted in revulsion at the sight of him. Sometimes he woke at night in a cold sweat, escaping nightmares where he was mocked, reviled, where he was nothing.
So he kept up the illusion as best he could, which in his case was very, very well indeed. He was charming, handsome, talented, perfect. And in his best moments, when the world was shining with adulation, he could almost make himself believe it too.