bacchusnovels Chapter 422 Krum Wants to Fall in Love
Chapter 422 Krum Wants to Fall in Love
Chapter 422 Krum Wants to Fall in Love
With a serious-looking Sean and an excited Selena emerging from their briefcases, the class came to a complete end.
Krum noticed Selena's expression, and when Selena came out, he made a point of straightening his posture to maintain his composure.
Even after the class ended, Krum's "awkward" day continued.
Upon arriving at the auditorium, Krum was about to pick up his plate when he bumped into a student who was carrying soup.
He instinctively tried to avoid it, but his movements became slow because he was "deliberately trying to remain calm".
"Bang!" A large bowl of steaming soup was spilled directly onto his robe.
"Oh my god! I'm so sorry, Krum!" the student apologized hastily, frantically trying to help him clean up.
Krum froze, momentarily at a loss for what to do.
He could feel many people staring at him, so he took a deep breath and said calmly, "It's okay, I can handle it myself."
Although he sounded calm, he could sense whispers behind him as he walked toward the restroom, some of them talking about him.
Although such discussions happen almost every day, they seem rather ominous today.
Standing in front of the mirror, Krum looked at his half-soaked robe and muttered to himself, "What's so handsome about this—"
In the afternoon Quidditch game, Krum found his familiar rhythm.
His broom drew elegant arcs in the air, each dive precise and flawless, fully demonstrating his strength and skill.
After training, Krum got off the broom, feeling a little more relaxed.
However, when he saw the expressions on his teammates' faces, he sensed something was off.
"Krum, what's wrong with you today?" a teammate asked, his tone slightly teasing. "You've been acting weird all day, like you're trying to imitate someone."
"Imitation?" Krum paused for a moment, then realized that it was his deliberately adjusted posture and expression that made people notice the change.
He was silent for a moment, then shrugged and gave what he thought was a relaxed smile: "Just trying something new."
His teammate laughed and patted him on the shoulder: "Don't try so hard, Krum. You're good enough as you are, there's no need for all this unnecessary stuff."
Krum felt a mix of emotions upon hearing this.
Am I... perhaps not quite suited to Professor Phillips's tutelage?
With this attitude in mind, he went to Sean's office again after dinner in the evening.
"Krum, how are you feeling today?"
Sean put down his book and looked up at Krum, who had just entered through the door.
Krum stood in the doorway for a second, then gently closed it, raised his chin, still maintaining a "composed" demeanor. He walked over to Sean, sat down, paused, and then said in a low voice, "Professor... to be honest, I find it a little strange."
Sean raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Strange? What's strange about it?"
Krum rubbed his temples, a look of frustration on his face. "I've been trying to do exactly what you said today—my posture,..."
"My eyes, my movements... I tried so hard, but..." He paused, his voice lowering, "but all day long, I felt like something was off. The way people looked at me made me feel...unnatural."
Sean placed his hands on the table, not answering immediately, but letting Krum continue.
“For example, what happened in the auditorium at noon,” Krum sighed, “when that bowl of soup spilled on me, I tried to appear calm, but I just felt… that ‘composure’ was fake, it wasn’t real at all.”
He added in a low voice, "In the end, it seems like I'm the one who's more embarrassed."
Sean chuckled softly, looking down. "Okay, continue."
"I felt a bit better on the Quidditch field this afternoon, but my teammates still said I looked like I was imitating someone else's style... I was just trying to perform better, but the result... :.:" Krum frowned, somewhat annoyed, and said, "It seems to have backfired."
He looked up, meeting Sean's gaze directly. "Professor, am I... not suited for this kind of training?"
Sean leaned back slightly in his chair and remained silent for a few seconds before speaking: "Krum, I saw your efforts today. You were indeed very dedicated, but the problem is also obvious—your current performance is like a sparrow trying to imitate an eagle."
Krum paused for a moment, "Sparrow...Professor, I mean, I..."
?
Sean raised his hand to interrupt him, "You still don't understand. Composure and poise are not things you can acquire by imitating others. They come from yourself, from your unique qualities, not from putting other people's things on yourself."
He sat up straight and said seriously, "Krum, today you lost your own unique qualities and just blindly imitated so-called 'composure.' But you forgot that what truly makes you unique is your authenticity, your focus and perseverance on the field, and your unwavering courage in the face of danger. That's what makes you 'cool.'"
Krum opened his mouth slightly, as if he wanted to refute, but he didn't say anything.
Sean continued, "This morning, when I saw you standing so straight, I knew you were falling into a trap—trying to gain inner strength through outward posture, but that's not how composure comes about."
He stood up, walked to the window, then suddenly turned around. "Krum, have you ever wondered why you seem so confident and natural on the Quidditch field, but always so awkward on other occasions?"
Krum paused for a moment, then replied in a low voice, "Because... because on the field, I know what I'm doing."
“That’s right,” Sean nodded firmly. “Because on the field, you are Krum, the one who knows how to control the broom and how to defeat your opponents. But today, you’ve abandoned all of that and are trying to change yourself in a completely new way that doesn’t belong to you at all. That’s why you feel awkward.”
Krum frowned and pondered for a moment, seemingly understanding something, but still asked, "Professor, what should I do? If not imitation, how can I become... as charismatic as you?"
Sean smiled, walked back to the table, placed his hands on the surface, and leaned down to look at him: "If you want an aura, then first learn to accept yourself and truly understand what your strengths are. Krum, you are one of Durmstrang's best Quidditch players. You have unparalleled focus and perseverance—these are already your greatest 'coolness'."
He straightened up, his tone more relaxed: "As for posture and eye contact, those are just icing on the cake. If you really want to practice, I can teach you. But the prerequisite is that you must first learn to be natural, not deliberate."
Krum was silent for a moment, then nodded. "I understand, Professor. I was indeed too hasty today."
"Too hasty?" Sean seemed to have caught a key phrase and asked, "Why are you in such a hurry?"
To be honest, Sean has his own interpretation of this special mission.
Cho Chang and Krum can be directly connected in terms of location; their only connection is that they both love the same sport—Quidditch.
So, the reason why Krum is used as a prerequisite for the quest is self-evident—he has an item related to Quidditch that Cho Chang needs, which can greatly advance his relationship with Cho Chang.
At least, that's how it is from the perspective of game missions.
So, the next question is how to solve Krum's problem and make him "explode gold coins".
At first, Sean thought Krum's problem was simply a lack of self-confidence.
This phenomenon is not limited to adolescence; it is also observed in many celebrities.
So, Sean gave him such an "awkward" day... But now it seems that whether he was "confident" or not is not important, it seems... there is another reason.
So Sean crossed his arms, leaned against the table, and asked, "Krum, tell me, why are you in such a hurry? Is it simply because you want to become handsome?"
Krum's face flushed slightly. He glanced down at the floor, hesitated, but finally looked up and stammered, "Professor... actually... it wasn't... entirely for myself..."
"Oh? Who is that for?" Sean asked impatiently.
He seemed to have caught a whiff of gossip.
Krum scratched his head, his ears turning completely red, and stammered, "Actually, lately I... um... am thinking... about... being in a relationship."
The moment those words were spoken, the air in the office seemed to freeze for a second.
Sean chuckled, "I see. So that's why you care so much about 'handsome' and 'aura'?"
Krum looked even more embarrassed. He simply lowered his head, gripped his knees with both hands, and whispered, "Yes, a little. Professor,"
I don't know how to say it, but I—I seem to have met someone who feels very special to me recently, but "but you don't know how to get close to her, right?" Sean took over the conversation very naturally.
Krum nodded. "Yes. I feel like I'm not good enough—listen, not good enough. I know she must be amazing, and lots of people must like her. I just want to be better, at least—at least to get her to notice me."
Sean chuckled and shook his head. "Krum, it's rare to see you so insecure. You're not like this on the Quidditch pitch."
Krum gave a wry smile: "But, Professor, dating and playing sports are completely different."
"Who is that girl?" For some reason, Sean seemed to have thought of some possibility and suddenly asked.
Krum answered decisively, "Selena, I've been her teammate for years..."
Upon hearing the name, Sean fell silent, a rare occurrence for him.
That witch is dangerous; the waters are too deep inside. Krum, you're too young; you can't handle it.
the other side.
Harry lay stiffly on the bed, his chest heaving as he breathed heavily, as if he had just finished a long run.
He suddenly woke up from an extremely realistic dream, pressing his hands tightly against his face.
The lightning-shaped scar burned painfully under his fingers, as if a red-hot metal wire had been pressed hard against the skin.
He sat up, one hand clutching his scar, the other groping for his glasses on the bedside table in the darkness.
When he put on his glasses, the blurry world finally became clear.
The light from the streetlights outside filtered through the curtains, casting a soft, hazy orange-red glow that gently enveloped the bedroom, creating an almost surreal atmosphere.
Ha gently touched the scar with his finger; the pain was still sharp.
Harry tried to recall the scene from his dream, and it all felt so real it sent chills down his spine—there were two familiar faces.
He frowned, straining to concentrate, trying to grasp those memories that slipped away like water.
The blurry image resurfaced in my mind—a dimly lit room, a thin man named Peter, whom people called "Wormtail," curled up on the carpet in front of the fireplace—and a cold, piercing voice, the voice of Voldemort.
Whenever Harry thought of that name, it felt as if a block of ice had fallen into his stomach, chilling him to the bone.
He closed his eyes tightly, trying to recall Voldemort's appearance, but the memory was as blurry as a thick fog.
The only thing he knew for sure was that when Voldemort's chair slowly turned around, and he saw what was sitting in it, an indescribable fear welled up inside him, and he was plunged into a cold darkness before suddenly waking up.
In that instant, his scar, as if in sync with his dream, began to ache intensely.
What did Voldemort and Wormtail talk about?
Yes, they mentioned resurrection.
The thought of this horrified him even more—they were planning a resurrection, and the day of the resurrection was the day after tomorrow.
Harry jerked his head up, opened his eyes, and looked around his bedroom.
Privet Road looked as quiet as ever in the night, as if it had stood still.
The curtains on both sides were drawn tightly shut, and the street was deserted.
There wasn't even a cat in sight.
What troubled Harry was not the pain of the scar itself.
He was already used to pain and scars.
Once, the bone in his right arm completely disappeared, only to grow back overnight, the excruciating pain etched into his memory; another time, a foot-long fang pierced his arm, the wound burning as if it were on fire; last year, he even fell fifty feet from the sky, landing directly on the ground. As a Hogwarts student, especially one as prone to trouble as him, strange accidents and pain were practically a part of life.
However, this time, what made him uneasy was not the pain itself, but the signal it conveyed—a subtle warning that the last time the scar flared up so violently, it was because Voldemort was so close.
The thought sent a chill down Harry's spine.
How could Voldemort possibly appear on Privet Drive? Such a thought is absurd, even laughable.
Despite his efforts to calm himself down, this invisible anxiety lingered and wouldn't go away.
write a letter.
Yes, he needs to tell others about this, to tell those he trusts.
At that very moment, Hermione Granger's voice suddenly rang in his mind, so clear it was as if she were standing right in front of him, speaking rapidly and in a boisterous manner:
"Your scar hurts? Harry, this is no small matter! Write to Dumbledore right away! I'll check 'Common Magical Ailments'; there must be information about the pain response of cursed scars!"
Yes, Hermione would definitely suggest this: go find the headmaster of Hogwarts immediately and search through all possible books to find out the cause of the scar's pain.
The question is, how is he supposed to write this letter?
"Dear Professor Dumbledore, I'm sorry to bother you, but my scar started hurting this morning."
"Your faithfulness, Harry Potter."
No, that won't do. Just thinking about it made Harry feel ridiculous.
This is so silly; it doesn't seem like a serious matter at all.
He sighed and tried to imagine how his other good friend, Ron Weasley, would react when he heard about it.
The image of Ron—his messy red hair, long nose, freckled face, and bewildered expression—immediately flashed into my mind, his voice filled with confusion:
"Your scar hurts? But Voldemort can't possibly get close to you right now, right? I mean—you know that, right? Maybe he's planning something against you again? Or maybe I don't know, Harry, maybe cursed scars just hurt occasionally? Listen—I'll go ask my dad."
Ha rubbed his painful scars with his knuckles and stood up irritably.
In truth, he knew very well what he truly needed—though admitting it was somewhat embarrassing. What he needed wasn't Hermione's knowledge or Ron's loyal support, but someone—"someone like a parent."
An adult wizard can openly confide this to the other person without worrying about looking like a foolish child.
That person not only needs to care for him, but also must be experienced in fighting dark magic and be able to calmly deal with the current predicament.
Harry took a slow breath, and the answer gradually came to him. It was too simple, too obvious; he could hardly believe it had taken him so long to think of it. In fact, he immediately thought of two suitable candidates—Sirius and Professor Phillips!
When those two names flashed through his mind, Harry felt much calmer, as if he had suddenly seen the way out of the problem.
The answer he needs may lie among them.
Harry took a deep breath, walked to his desk, and took out parchment, a quill, and an ink bottle from the drawer.
He hesitated for a moment, then looked down and began to write a letter.
Dear Professor Phillips, hello!
I think you might be surprised that I'm writing this letter. I apologize for bothering you during the holidays, but I have some questions and don't know who else to ask, so I'm coming to you. I've recently encountered something that's making me very uneasy, and I'd like to hear your thoughts.
Last night, I had a very vivid dream. When I woke up, the scar on my forehead started throbbing with pain. In the past, this pain usually only occurred when Voldemort was near—but how could he possibly be here, right? The scene in the dream was blurry, but I remember seeing Wormtail and Voldemort. They were talking about some kind of plan, and it seemed to mention resurrection. It sounds a bit unreal now, but the dream leaves me feeling uneasy.
Are you familiar with this situation? For example, could the cursed scar be painful for other reasons? Or do you believe it's just a dream?
I know it sounds a bit dramatic, but I have a feeling this isn't an ordinary dream. I'd like to ask you, what should I do about this? Also, I'm really grateful for your guidance in class, and I miss Hogwarts very much.
I look forward to your reply.
Sincerely,
salute.
Your sincere student, Harry Potter.
After Harry finished writing, he let out a long sigh of relief.
He put them into envelopes and sealed them tightly.
He turned his head and looked at Hedwig in the room.
"Hedwig, could you help me deliver a letter?" he asked in a low voice.
Hedwig nimbly flapped her wings and flew to the table, staring at Harry as if she were ready.
"May I send this to Professor Phillips first?" he said. "Come back quickly, I have another letter I need you to deliver."
Hedwig gently pecked his finger, as if to comfort him, then flapped her wings and flew out the window, disappearing into the hazy night sky.
Then, Harry picked up the quill pen again.
This time, he was going to write a letter to his godfather—his godfather whom he had only met two months earlier.
This letter is more detailed than the one sent to Professor Phillips....