HP's Foreign Land

"They've all gone?"

Heimdall let out a "hmm" and closed the door behind him.

Victor patted the empty seat beside him, and Heimdall walked over and sat down.

"I've already told my dad to go to Vulcan's practice tomorrow."

Victor stretched his arms into his arms and said with a smile, "I'm afraid I'll disappoint you. I'm just a substitute goalkeeper. Maybe I don't even have the chance to play. It's better if you don't go. It saves you Seeing me sitting on the bench hurts my image."

"Don't worry." Heimdall smoothed the skirt of his clothes, calmly, "Anyway, in my heart, you have no image at all."

Victor laughed out loud, then leaned close to his face, stared into his eyes, and said viciously, "I have been greatly traumatized, and I demand compensation."

As he spoke, dense kisses fell on Heimdall's face.

Wrapping his waist with one hand, the other hand lifted the hem of the woolen vest, loosened the shirt, and quickly took it in.

Heimdall immediately shuddered, his hairs standing on end.

Victor bit his lower lip, forcing him to open his mouth, slipping his tongue nimbly in.

Fingers draw circles on the skin while kneading one vertebra after another, and the right hand touches up the spine one after another...

Heimdall groaned uncontrollably and was swallowed up by Victor.

When they finished kissing, that hand was still attached to Heimdall's skin and gently rubbed.

Victor licked and kissed the corner of Heimdall's mouth for a while before reluctantly leaving.

"Your relatives didn't make things difficult for you, did they?"

"With Dad around, how is it possible."

Victor snorted.

Heimdall smiled, "This group of Sturlussons really don't believe in the theory of reincarnation. It's not so much that they agree with reincarnation, it's better to say that they came for the patriarch's adopted son. Perhaps in their view, about Erff's reincarnation status is far less attractive than Rommel's son"

If he wasn't the son of Rommel Strulusson, the party might not have been called, and even if it was called, he wouldn't be so kind and warm to himself, let alone take that "title" for granted to add to his own head.

It's all for the sake of my father.

"I'm very happy." Heimdall put his face into Victor's chest and rubbed and rubbed.

Victor laughed dumbfounded when he saw it.

"You are so Rommel can't be happy."

"I'm excited to see this 'realistic' outcome."

Victor touched his hair, "Real people are often smart people."

Heimdall rubbed it for a while, then raised his head and said, "The most important thing is that without Dad's nod, they will never say anything."

For Rigg, such a result could not have been better. It revealed what was in his heart without arousing criticism, let alone causing a large group of people to fuss and yell at him.

"Finally able to calm down." Heimdall let out a long sigh of relief.

Victor couldn't help laughing.

"Why don't you walk around in front of them with me." When it comes to this, Heimdall is very sad.

This guy, leaving him at a critical moment, got up on his own.

Victor pinched his face with his fingers amusedly, "I'm not from the Sturluson family, why should I judge them?"

Heimdall was even more mournful.

"I'm just being judged by them!"

"Who made you Rommel's son?!"

Heimdall felt that this topic was "unsafe", so he responded vaguely, and asked about tomorrow's practice.

Victor smiled silently, and continued following his words.

The two talked about each other until midnight, until Rommel came to visit with a blank expression.

They had to say goodnight to each other.

Heimdall turned back to his room, and Victor stared at the door strangely.

***

The venues for the Europa League Cup in the new season are mainly distributed in some countries in Northern Europe and Western Europe.

The so-called pre-match practice is very different from the real practice. In fact, it is just a high-sounding gimmick for the media of various countries to leave a centralized platform for interviews.

Rather than letting these reporters poke holes everywhere like rabbits, peeping indiscriminately, talking nonsense, and messing up the regulations, it is better to provide a formal stage for them to compete fairly and play as they please.

Confine the reporters in one place, let colleagues in the same industry supervise each other, and if there is chaos, they will fight among themselves.

In this way, the troubles caused by reporters will be correspondingly reduced, and the alliance's life will be much easier.

It can be said that the Quidditch League has gone through hundreds of years of ups and downs, summed up from the lessons of blood and tears, and integrated the painstaking efforts and energy of several generations.

Heimdall got up early that day, and Draco, who was equally excited, rushed to the dining room downstairs to have a hasty breakfast.

And Wei Ke had already set off before dawn for many days.

When they were about to go out, they were surprised to find that Toffee was dragging the pet cage and moving towards the gate. When he saw Heimdall, he immediately dropped the cage, circled around him excitedly, and then desperately pushed the cage towards his feet. side arch.

Looking into its shining eyes, Draco couldn't bear to turn his head away.

Heimdall had no intention of taking it there at all, and even though he held a false beast certificate issued by the Greek Ministry of Magic, he still tried his best to avoid letting Toffee show up in public.

You know, there are so many caring people in the world.

However, looking at that happy look, Heimdall really couldn't bear to pour cold water on it.

So he squatted down and discussed, "I'll make you smaller, about this big," and gestured with his hands. "We don't need a cage anymore, I'll hold you in my arms, you may feel uncomfortable..."

Before he finished speaking, Toffee rubbed against his leg in understanding, with a look of willingness.

Heimdall sighed, "I have wronged you."

After a while, two people and one beast went out.

Heimdall held the toffee, and Draco was responsible for finding the portkey.

Victor left each of them with an admission ticket last night, two in parallel, about the size of a greeting card, with a map of Reykjavik drawn on the back of the admission ticket, indicating the distribution center of the portkeys in the urban area .

The door key closest to Luoyue Mansion is on the adjacent street.

They found it quickly.

The marked place is a bar, the wooden door with red large glass is wide open, and a black old-fashioned bicycle is leaning against the door, a green plant is hung in front of the bicycle faucet, and there is a shining yellow lamp on the faucet. I don't know if the lights are broken or to attract customers, but the small lights flicker intermittently during the day, like neon lights at night.

They walked into the bar, and the strong aroma of the wine hit their faces.

There is soothing jazz in the air.

Because it was still early, there was no one in the bar, only a young man wearing a half black bib was busy moving tables and chairs.

"This store is not open to minors." The man said without looking up.

Heimdall couldn't understand it, but he knew it was a code. Victor had mentioned it to him last night.

After exchanging glances with his cousin, Draco said loudly in English, "We're here to watch the game." He held up the tickets in his hand.

The man froze, and then showed a embarrassed expression, just when Heimdall and Draco thought he couldn't understand English, the man said intermittently in broken English: "Show me the ticket...that... "

Draco handed him the ticket immediately.

He heaved a sigh of relief, hurriedly took it over for a few glances, returned it after confirming that it was correct, and said, "There, just enter the door."

Draco nodded, and Heimdall smiled at him, brushing past him.

The man was stunned for a moment, and after a while, his face turned pale with shock. By the time he realized that what one of the boys was holding seemed, seemed, maybe, could be that, the pair of cousins ​​had long since disappeared.

Old lyrical French songs are played inside the door, echoing the lazy jazz outside the door.

A gray-haired old lady sat on a rocking chair knitting a sweater, and the colorful threads rolled all over the floor.

Heimdall and Draco were struggling, and when they were thinking about where to go, the balls of thread rolled aside by themselves, leaving a way for them to walk.

"It's all on the wall, you can choose the number yourself." The old lady said lightly.

Heimdall blinked blankly.

Draco breathed a sigh of relief, thanking Merlin, he could understand some French, so he said to his cousin, "She asked us to choose the portkey by ourselves."

They both looked at the whitewashed wall hung with all kinds of junk.

Each entry ticket corresponds to a Portkey.

Heimdall's ticket shows a mug with the bottom missing.

Draco's was a crooked-neck spoon.

They fumbled for the tickets at the same time, and of course, they didn't forget to take care of the toffee.

When two people and one beast used the door key to play time travel, they were surprised to find that the end of the door key was still the same room.

"Is there something wrong with this key?" Draco was puzzled.

"Children, go west and you'll be on the field for the pre-match practice. Please throw the door keys in the basket."

The old lady in the rocking chair spoke.

Heimdall and Draco were in a daze for a long time, until they went out, Draco suddenly burst into laughter, and imitated the old lady's tone to explain to his cousin.

"They're twins, aren't they?" Draco said amusedly.

Heimdall couldn't help laughing too.

"It must be, otherwise how could it be so similar!"

When they entered the arena, they found that there were more reporters than spectators. The two boys figured that nine out of ten spectators who could come in were like them.

This pre-match practice is specially prepared for reporters. The reporters have unlimited authority and can run all over the field.

The audience can't do it, they are forced to gather in a small auditorium, and they can't run around.

Fortunately, the number of spectators coming in through the doorway was really limited, and the small seats were all scattered and not full.

They were about to choose a position closer to the field when Draco suddenly grabbed Heimdall.

"Rig! I saw Puddlemere United!" Surprised and delighted.

Without waiting for Heimdall to speak, he shouted again, "Ah, the goalkeeper is here, and I saw their Chaser! And the batsman, ahhh, Seeker Winingt!" He said nervously He looked at Heimdall anxiously, "You said I went to ask them for an autograph, would they give it?" His eyes were wide open, shining with excitement.

"Yes." Heimdall could only guess that the star should be happy when asked to sign.

Draco took out a notebook from his pocket, and Heimdall saw Puddlemere United's team logo painted on it sharply, which should be a peripheral product for the fans of the team.

So I felt a little awkward, Draco came to watch Victor's pre-match practice with himself, but in his pocket was a sycophantic book with Puddlemere United's brilliant record? !

The boyfriend joined the Vulcan team, and he naturally stood on the side of the Basteto Vulcan team. When encountering similar things, he would often look at the problem from the Vulcan team.

"Rig, can you go with me..."

After all, Draco was not one of those unrestrained fans, he couldn't let go of his hands and feet, and he was still worried. With his cousin's company, he felt more confident.

"Okay." Heimdall didn't care.

Who knew that Draco took out another sycophant book like a magic trick, stuffed it backhand into Heimdall's hand, and said plausibly, "It doesn't look good with empty hands."

Toffee turned her head and stared at Xiao Ben who was "competing" with her.

How many copies did he hide?

Heimdar Khan is gone.

For some reason, I suddenly felt a subtle sense of betrayal...

Then, led by Draco, they walked towards the auditorium on the other side one after the other, where the people from Puddlemere United were sitting and chatting, seemingly very leisurely.

Heimdall thought that someone would come out to stop them, but the result was very disappointing. They approached Puddlemere United's temporary chatting place safely.

Those players noticed their approach one after another, looking puzzled.

It was even more curious to find out that it was two young wizards.

Draco was relieved to notice that their attitude was still friendly.

Upon hearing his request, the ace Veninte immediately showed a warm smile, took the book in Draco's hand, and signed his name.

One of the team's chasers glanced at Heimdall who was standing far away and kept silent, and asked curiously: "What about you?"

Heimdall subconsciously shook his head and even said no, and took a step back holding the toffee.

The seemingly evasive posture caused the Chaser to burst out laughing. He turned to Weiningte and said, "Your charm also has its limits. Look, this is a living example."

Draco thought of something, and hurriedly stood in front of his cousin, covering half of Toffee's body, "He was pulled here by force, I don't think it looks good empty-handed, so I just..."

As soon as this remark came out, everyone was happy.

It is not easy to meet Chinese people in a foreign country. Draco took advantage of fellow British wizards. The reason why Puddlemere United showed a fairly good tolerance may be due to this.

Viningt asked Heimdall: "Do you like watching Quidditch?"

"I wasn't very interested in it before, but it's okay now."

"How did you like it?" Chaser's gossip addiction is very strong.

"My cousin's boyfriend is a professional player after graduation." Draco said proudly, as if introducing his boyfriend.

When the players of the United team heard this, they immediately became interested, and asked which team they were going to join and what their name was.

I saw Draco pointing to the field with his hand, and the players of the Vulcan team were entering the field together.

Brilliant white lights burst out frequently from the press seats outside the venue.

"Bastetto?" The Puddlemere United players froze, "Not British?"

After all, Britain is an old Quidditch powerhouse. There are a large number of professional teams of all levels in the country. It is said that they have excellent results in the league rankings, so it is not uncommon for wizards in this country to play for foreign teams.

"No." Heimdall shook his head.

"Which one is it?"

Heimdall turned his head and glanced, and couldn't help laughing, "Just sit on the bench."

The crowd watched intently.

Wei Ningte's face changed slightly, and the others suddenly became quiet.

...Victor Krum?