The Eyes that Burn
folder
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
6
Views:
3,331
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
6
Views:
3,331
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Chapter 2
A/N: Sorry about the short chapters, get used to it.
An elderly woman rushed toward her and extended her veined, wrinkled hand that was red red with sunspots. The mysterious girl who had interrupted their otherwise eventless meal made no move to take the woman’s hand but was led to the front of the hall toward a table reserved for whom she assumed were the teachers. An even older man with a beard white as fresh-fallen snow that extended well past his colorfully robed waist watched the pair with his gray eyes hidden behind his crescent shaped glasses. The woman ushered her up a small flight of stairs to meet the man face to face. He greeted her with a warm smile, something she had grown unused to in the wake of recent events.
“Welcome to Hogwarts.” He said as he shook her hand heartily.
She was quickly led out another door that opened to reveal a staircase. After walking up stairs that seemed to last for an eternity, she ended up right in front of a large statue of a bird.
“Gringotts.” A quietly confident voice spoke from behind her.
The bird spun out of sight, revealing another flight of stairs. The long-bearded man glided past her and up the stairs and she followed quietly, growing exhausted from the many flights of stairs she had conquered that day.
“How was your trip from Beauxbatons?” The old man asked, stroking the red phoenix that cooed with pleasure, then went back to pluming its magnificent red and gold feathers.
“Long.” She replied, her eyes scanning the bookshelves that covered the walls of the round office. Albus Dumbledore a golden nameplate read on the cherry desk, glinting in the well-lit room.
“As the headmaster here at Hogwarts, I have heard all about your-”
She nodded, knowing exactly what the headmaster, as he had proclaimed with a trace of pride layering his voice, was talking about seeing as how she was the one who had lived through it. He bowed his head, and she knew he would not press the issue further.
As Dumbledore began explaining the way things worked at his “wonderful Hogwarts: School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,” her thoughts shifted to last term’s scandal. She remembered the constant flashing of news reporters’ cameras that had momentarily blinded her as she was escorted down the halls of Beauxbatons, leaving gossiping students in her wake. She remembered how the teachers had shaken their heads in shame as they were briefed about the situation. Her thoughts were interrupted by a famr vor voice.
“Miss Daontes?” Dumbledore had pulled out a ragged, patched, old hat and placed it on a stool next to her, “I’m glad you decided to join us once again.”
She shifted uncomfortably in her chair, mortified that she had been caught. She stole glances at the hat as Dumbledore explained the ages old tradition of the “Sorting Hat,” as he called it.
“Dumbledore, old pal, I think I can explain this myself.” A strange voice permeated the room.
“Of course, excuse me.” Dumbledore fell silent and let the Sorting Hat speak for itself, not noticing her look of shock.
An elderly woman rushed toward her and extended her veined, wrinkled hand that was red red with sunspots. The mysterious girl who had interrupted their otherwise eventless meal made no move to take the woman’s hand but was led to the front of the hall toward a table reserved for whom she assumed were the teachers. An even older man with a beard white as fresh-fallen snow that extended well past his colorfully robed waist watched the pair with his gray eyes hidden behind his crescent shaped glasses. The woman ushered her up a small flight of stairs to meet the man face to face. He greeted her with a warm smile, something she had grown unused to in the wake of recent events.
“Welcome to Hogwarts.” He said as he shook her hand heartily.
She was quickly led out another door that opened to reveal a staircase. After walking up stairs that seemed to last for an eternity, she ended up right in front of a large statue of a bird.
“Gringotts.” A quietly confident voice spoke from behind her.
The bird spun out of sight, revealing another flight of stairs. The long-bearded man glided past her and up the stairs and she followed quietly, growing exhausted from the many flights of stairs she had conquered that day.
“How was your trip from Beauxbatons?” The old man asked, stroking the red phoenix that cooed with pleasure, then went back to pluming its magnificent red and gold feathers.
“Long.” She replied, her eyes scanning the bookshelves that covered the walls of the round office. Albus Dumbledore a golden nameplate read on the cherry desk, glinting in the well-lit room.
“As the headmaster here at Hogwarts, I have heard all about your-”
She nodded, knowing exactly what the headmaster, as he had proclaimed with a trace of pride layering his voice, was talking about seeing as how she was the one who had lived through it. He bowed his head, and she knew he would not press the issue further.
As Dumbledore began explaining the way things worked at his “wonderful Hogwarts: School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,” her thoughts shifted to last term’s scandal. She remembered the constant flashing of news reporters’ cameras that had momentarily blinded her as she was escorted down the halls of Beauxbatons, leaving gossiping students in her wake. She remembered how the teachers had shaken their heads in shame as they were briefed about the situation. Her thoughts were interrupted by a famr vor voice.
“Miss Daontes?” Dumbledore had pulled out a ragged, patched, old hat and placed it on a stool next to her, “I’m glad you decided to join us once again.”
She shifted uncomfortably in her chair, mortified that she had been caught. She stole glances at the hat as Dumbledore explained the ages old tradition of the “Sorting Hat,” as he called it.
“Dumbledore, old pal, I think I can explain this myself.” A strange voice permeated the room.
“Of course, excuse me.” Dumbledore fell silent and let the Sorting Hat speak for itself, not noticing her look of shock.