HP's Foreign Land

Chapter 278 Eligibility

"Isn't he a Seeker? Why is he wearing a goalkeeper's uniform?"

Still the active Chaser.

The matter involved the adjustment of Basteto's internal lineup, and Draco avoided talking about it. He still had a sense of what he could say and what he couldn't say.

Heimdall said lightly: "Professional teams are not school teams, and they can't do whatever they want. Of course, they must obey the arrangements of the higher authorities."

The Chaser shut his mouth embarrassingly, and was choked back when he wanted to probe.

The atmosphere suddenly became dull.

"That's a pity, what a seedling Seeker." Someone came out to smooth things over.

Many people echoed, "It's a pity not to be a Seeker."

Heimdall keenly noticed that since they knew that Victor had "changed his career" to become a goalkeeper, these people suddenly became more relaxed, especially the ace Seeker Winington, whose smile was much brighter than before.

If it is said that he put on a standard commercial expression just now to deal with Draco, a fan, he looked solemn and reserved, a little artificial, and a little pale, but now, with a smile filling his eyes, he feels happy from the bottom of his heart.

Heimdall felt amused. It was too early for everyone to "relieve". How can you predict that Victor will not "turn over" based on his own words, and will sit on the bench of the goalkeeper for the rest of his life drinking the northwest wind?

Draco was also a sensitive child. He could clearly see the inconsistencies in the expression changes of Wenningte and his followers, and he felt empty and awkward in his heart. Gao Daquan's idol seemed to be tilted. ...

Heimdall had no choice but to pretend to be deaf and dumb. No matter what he said now, it might cause a certain blow to his cousin.

The idol is the floating cloud, the farther away, the higher the float, the more blurred, the safer to look at from afar.

Beauty comes from distance!

Under the leadership of Wei Ningte, the team members all smiled kindly, as if they were a "corporate of courtesy and virtue" and wanted to make things happen with them.

Draco had long since lost his original interest, and at first he said a few perfunctory words, but then he stopped talking altogether.

The atmosphere became more and more tense.

Seeing this, Heimdall hurriedly said goodbye.

They both left that corner.

Draco clutched the notebook dejectedly, and hurriedly put the flattering notebook in his pocket as soon as he left Puddlemere United's sight range.

"Maybe I haven't paid much attention to the UK's Quidditch trends recently. I haven't heard much about that Weiningte. I remember that the most famous British Quidditch player is Barry Ryan..."

"Yes!" Draco's eyes lit up. "He's the best goalkeeper in England," said his eyes darkening again. "It's a pity that he was not selected for Puddlemere United. His skills are really good." He was very frustrated in his words.

"Didn't he get on well in Ireland?"

"Can the Irish team be on par with Puddlemere United?" Draco pouted unhappily.

Dare to feel in his heart, except for Puddlemere United, the other teams in the British Isles are cannon fodder...

Heimdall touched his nose, but he didn't expect his cousin to be quite hardcore.

Ever since, he stopped trying to comfort him, his cousin's fan count was very high, so he didn't care about the bumps.

Draco walked to the first row of seats closest to the arena.

There was a large section of empty seats in the middle, with a few wizards sitting scatteredly at both ends, some men and some women, looking around the field without a glance, patronizing gossiping with people they knew, not thinking about Quidditch at all.

However, there is really nothing to show on the field. Occasionally, a certain internationally renowned player poses at the request of the reporter, or rides a broom in a blatant circle over the field. The rest of the time, the teams occupy the field to take group photos.

To put it bluntly, it's nothing more than watching these players play cool.

Heimdall and Draco "borrowed" all the way to squeeze to the seat they wanted, but before reaching the seat, Draco became excited again, pulling Heimdall to see who and who, and pointing at that Who and who screamed.

Heimdall sighed and sighed like an old man. From the corner of his eye, he saw his boyfriend standing up. He quickly grabbed Draco and shouted in a high-pitched voice no less than that of his cousin, "Look at Wick!" A lot! Are they going to take his picture too?!" He deliberately freed his left hand and pointed in that direction vigorously, for fear that his cousin would not see it.

He was so excited that he couldn't hold it back, seeing the meaningful smile on Draco's face, he couldn't help letting go.

Draco suppressed his smile and nodded in agreement, "I see, there seem to be quite a few reporters who offered to take pictures of him."

Heimdall laughed uncomfortably, turned around and continued to squeeze forward.

His left hand was suddenly grabbed.

He turned his head in surprise, an old man with full hair and wearing a dark smoke gray wizard robe was holding on to his wrist, and the ring on his ring finger was suddenly exposed under the brightly lit venue.

The eagle on the ring seems to want to get out of the ring, fluttering its wings, lifelike.

After a moment of astonishment, Heimdall quickly calmed down and recognized him, one of the elders of the Strulusson family, who had a double-sided relationship. (PS: One of the elders who appeared in the sun room and clamored for Bjorn to help the reincarnation paint a portrait)

The old man sat there as steady as Mount Tai, looked at him slightly sideways, his eyes were full of disapproval.

"Not everyone can wear the eagle ring." The old man said slowly.

Draco frowned immediately, watching them nervously.

If it wasn't for Heimdall's quick reaction, and the toffee was strangled with his arms, it would have rushed to attack it long ago.

After the old man finished speaking, he waited for a long time, but he couldn't wait for an answer, and the displeasure on his face became more and more obvious.

"I don't understand." Heimdall told him very calmly in English.

The old man didn't speak for a long time.

After finally suppressing the surging emotions, he said stiffly, "What's your name?"

I didn't forget to change the language.

"Heimdall Strulusson."

"Since he is a member of the Strulusson family, he should understand," the old man raised Heimdall's wrist, his eyes clouded. "In our family, not everyone is qualified to wear this kind of ring!"

Heimdall turned his wrist, and the old man let go.

"What happened to the ring? Is there a problem?"

The old man's eyes widened upon hearing this.

Heimdall said before he exploded: "Did Jolf once say that no one else can wear a ring in the shape of a flying eagle except him?"

The old man squeezed his mouth tightly, his face was cloudy and uncertain.

"If you have any, please show evidence."

Take chicken feathers as arrows!

Heimdall was very disapproving, and he winked at Draco. The two of them passed the old man and arrived at the seat one after the other.

"Is that person an elder?"

Draco had a chance encounter with the elders in the front hall, so he had some impressions in his mind.

"Probably." Heimdall was unwilling to talk further, pointing in a certain direction and said, "Look at that person..."

Draco immediately turned his head to look over.

This little episode was quickly forgotten.

But two days later, when Heimdall ran into the old man again in the same arena in a similar seat, he started to mutter in his heart.

"Please give way." There was no ups and downs in the tone.

The old man who was sitting upright on crutches didn't move, he didn't even lift his eyelids.

"Excuse me!" Heimdall emphasized his tone.

"I'm not deaf yet!" The old man was quite reasonable, turned around and said in a tone, "It's outrageous to make loud noises in public places!"

Heimdall hurriedly grabbed his right hand with his left hand, trying to kill the urge to pull out his wand in his pocket.

The old man seemed unwilling to get out of the way, and Heimdall slipped through the gap.

As a result, he checked the seat number, cursed secretly, turned around and sat down.

Just next door to the old man.

The old man cast a disgusted look, but Heimdall ignored him.

He took out the brick notebook he had prepared a long time ago, flipped it over, stood up to cover his face, and soon lost himself in the ocean of knowledge.

Today is the first game of the Basteto Vulcan team after entering the new season. The area around the field is very empty and the popularity is extremely bleak.There are four auditoriums in the east, west, north, south, and the east auditorium he is currently sitting in. If you look around, one-third of them are not full.

The east seat is still a popular seat, while the other three seats are even more empty.

Earlier, Victor told him that he didn't need to watch this game, and Heimdall promised him face to face, but he still couldn't help running over.

Considering that Victor would not exaggerate for no reason, he left Draco in the Luoyue mansion and did not let him follow him blindly.

Because I didn't book tickets in advance, I couldn't enter the arena immediately, so I had to find a way to get tickets, so I had to go around the arena to find out if there was any temporary refund.

When walking along the venue, I found that there were temporary ticket offices in front of several entrances and exits, and there were wizards in uniform and robes selling along the street.

Heimdall wondered at the time, could it be a scalper?

After a closer look, I found out that the event was too deserted, and the booking rate was far lower than the estimated value. The organizing committee had no choice but to lower the style and turn it into a roadside stall, yelling at the pedestrians coming and going.

Crouching temporarily to earn popularity.

No matter what, it would be nice to be able to sell one more.

Hearing that he wanted to buy a ticket, the conductor was so excited that he almost stuffed a bag of tickets into his hand.

When he learned that he only needed one, all the colorful backgrounds withered in an instant.

I gave him a seat number that was said to be the most popular in the field, turned around in a gloomy mood, and continued to walk along the street.

Thinking of this, Heimdall made a strange face at the book.

In all likelihood, the old man, like him, was tricked into coming in by a temporary ticket office, and he must have bought the so-called "popular seat number".

Today's arena mainly arranges two games, and the Vulcan team's game is in the second game.

There is no time limit for Quidditch, so it is hard to say when the Basteto Vulcans will be able to play, and it is even hard to say whether they will be able to play today.

Heimdall somewhat understood why Victor didn't let him come, and kept silent, mainly because he was afraid that his trip would be wasted.

The old man was obviously here to watch the first game, and Heimdall was not interested in knowing the names of the two teams in the first game.

I've been buried in reading for a long time, and I looked up to the distance to take a rest. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the old man's hand holding the cane turned white, and his shoulders shrugged. It can be seen how excited he was, but he had to pretend Calm and calm, but his face is getting more and more flushed...

Heimdall was really afraid that he would suffer internal injuries.

Just as he was being unkind, something went wrong with the old man, his complexion suddenly changed, from red to white in the blink of an eye, and his eyes began to straighten.

Heimdall was shocked, he was very familiar with this appearance, and it seemed that he was ill.

Hastily dropped the book to support the crumbling body of the old man. The old man opened his mouth halfway and his face was pale. The situation was so dangerous that he refused to appreciate it. He tremblingly pushed Heimdall's hand to tell him not to meddle in his own business.

"Where's the medicine? Where is it?" Heimdall ignored his resistance and groped around him with one hand.

The old man almost rolled his eyes, and he didn't know whether he was sick or angry.

But this stimulation is quite effective. It seemed to be going to pass away, but now his eyes are bright again.

"Is it this?" Heimdall finally touched a small brown glass bottle, pulled out the cork, and a pungent smell of potion came to his nostrils.

When the old man smelled this smell, his illness immediately eased, and his face was no longer pale.

Heimdall held the vial to his mouth so that he could take it.

As a result, he was blindsided.

The dog bites Lu Dongbin!Heimdall cursed with a livid face, wishing he could just pry open the old man's mouth and drink the medicine down, the impulse that had been strangled in his pocket sprouted again.

He thought that people shy away from medical treatment and refused to cooperate.

The old man snorted and realized that he could speak, so he spoke slowly and with difficulty: "...this medicine is for smelling."

A room chief suddenly became embarrassed.

The corners of his mouth twitched twice, and he immediately removed the gnashing of teeth.

"How long do you want to hear?" He humbly asked for advice.

"Put it away." The old man waved his hand wearily.

Heimdall hurriedly retrieved the cork to cover the bottle, and as soon as he handed it over, the old man quickly took the bottle back, refusing him to fumble with him any more.

After a while, the old man tidied himself up and sat upright again, as if nothing had happened.

Not even a "thank you".

If he hadn't been sure that he wasn't daydreaming, Heimdall would have thought that the movement just now was an illusion caused by overcompensation.

He had no choice but to desperately tell himself that I am the sun at five or six o'clock in the morning, so don't haggle over every detail with the sunset.

Don't look at the elder as calm and unreasonable, in fact, the turmoil in his heart is hard to calm down.

Such an embarrassing situation was bumped into by an "outsider". His illness has been kept a secret from the outside world. Few people in the family know about it. He didn't expect to be smashed by a fake Sturluson today.

Even Soljaer, whom he loves the most, doesn't know.

The elder glanced sideways, only to find that the fake Sturlusson was staring at the field with shining eyes, and the book he was reluctant to put down just now had been thrown behind him.

Suspiciously turned his eyes to the field, didn't they just switch to the next two teams to play!

Fuss!

While slandering, he also looked and looked carefully, pondered and pondered.

Still didn't find anything special, endured it, didn't hold back, turned around and asked, "Are you a Basteto fan?"

"No!" Pseudo Stulusson resolutely said.

"Then why are you acting like a fan!" He confidently accused him of deceiving his feelings.

Heimdall resisted the impulse for the third time, I'm a "fan", it's none of your business, you were so excited just now, I didn't ask anything!

The elder's official career has been magnanimous since he was young. In other words, he has a high position in the family and is used to calling the wind and rain. Dare to show off indifferently to myself, the unknown fire in my heart suddenly "boomed".

"What are you talking about!"

People who cultivate arrogance into their personality traits can easily arouse the rebellious psychology of others, at least a certain room chief is very rebellious right now.

"If you ask me, I must answer! Who are you to me!"

The elder was choked because he was nobody.