"This is… a ranking?"
Ron curiously reached out and touched the floating numbers in front of him. They weren't solid, but he stared and studied them for quite a while before finally realizing what those numbers meant.
Once he understood, he looked at his own workstation number at the very top of the list and couldn't help but feel a burst of pride.
"Looks like I've got some real talent for potion-making after all!" Ron said smugly.
But just as he spoke, that row of numbers suddenly vanished. When it reappeared a second later, there was a new change.
[Ranking]
[1st: Station No.1, "5 minutes 23 seconds"]
[2nd: Station No.2, "5 minutes 54 seconds"]
[3rd: Station No.4, "6 minutes 41 seconds"]
Ron's expression froze.
He scrolled down the ranking all the way to the bottom before finally spotting his own workstation number.
It was obvious now.
Someone else had entered the workshop and started working.
And their production times were nearly twice as fast as his.
'Is that even humanly possible?' Ron screamed inwardly.
This sudden turn of events wiped away all his earlier pride, replacing it with an endless sense of loss.
But soon, an unwilling fire started burning again in his chest.
After all, that was only his first attempt. He had wasted a lot of time earlier reacting too slowly, if he tried again, he could definitely go faster!
With that thought, he slammed his hand on the red button and repeated his previous process.
Chop, juice, boil, filter, bottle, press the gold button.
All in one smooth motion.
[7th , Station No.17, "7 minutes 58 seconds"]
"Better than last time! But not enough, I can do even better!"
Eyes bloodshot, Ron hit the red button again.
Once…
Twice…
Three times…
After a while, Ron completely lost track of how many batches of wormwood he'd processed, or even why he had come here in the first place.
He just kept repeating the same cycle, press the button, handle the materials, press the button again, glance at the ranking, and press it again.
Ron didn't know what spell he was under.
Maybe it was the enlarged golden font of the first-place ranking, or maybe it was the thrill he'd felt the first time he reached the top.
Either way, he had to take first place again.
But dreams are beautiful, while reality is cruel.
Processing wormwood wasn't particularly difficult, and Ron quickly managed to cut his time down to under six minutes like the others.
But pushing further, down to five minutes, was nearly impossible.
No matter how many times he tried, he couldn't break into the top three.
That frustrated him so much he started thinking those in the top three must be cheating somehow.
Just as he was about to give up, though, the materials that shot out of the red button changed, from wormwood to live scarab beetles.
The moment he saw those ugly little insects wriggling, the fire of hope that had almost died in him blazed up again.
Scarab beetles, one of the main ingredients for making Intelligence Potion.
You had to remove their organs and flesh, separate the shells and wings, grind them… the process was tedious and complex.
But this was Ron's specialty.
Back home, George and Fred always made him do that kind of disgusting work.
Rubbing his hands in excitement, Ron grabbed a scarab and began a new round of the contest.
Unfortunately, reality decided to mock him again.
He had only processed about ten batches of scarabs, his rank had just climbed to second place and he was gearing up to take first, when he suddenly realized that no matter how hard he pressed the red button, no new materials came out.
Ron, eyes red and wild, looked around frantically. Finally, he noticed a bright red warning message flashing on the nearby panel.
[Your total working time today has reached the 8-hour limit. Please take proper rest. Leave your station immediately and recover.]
"What? I've been here for eight hours already?"
Ron jumped in shock, then roared in anger, "Bullshit! I was about to break the record and take first place! Bring me more materials right now!"
As he yelled, he slammed his fist on the panel.
That seemed to trigger some kind of alarm.
The magical lamp above his workstation instantly turned red, and within minutes, two burly older Hufflepuff students burst through the door and grabbed him.
"Wait! Let me go! I can keep working! I was this close to breaking the record! You can't do this to me!"
Ron screamed and struggled desperately.
But after working all day without food, he had no strength left, and the two Hufflepuffs easily dragged him out of the workshop.
They tossed him into the wage office, shut the door, and finally sighed in relief.
The brown-haired one wiped the sweat from his forehead and complained to his colleague, "Another one gone crazy. I just don't get it, what's so fun about potion-making anyway?"
"That's Lord Link Flamel's work model, he designed it based on Muggle psychology. It's normal you don't understand. If you did understand it, you wouldn't be stuck here working."
The red-haired man said disdainfully.
Normally, with the brown-haired guy's temper, anyone speaking to him like that would get punched right away.
But since the name "Link Flamel" had been mentioned, that was different.
He nodded in agreement, then laughed and walked off with his coworker toward the rest room, waiting for the next "crazy" person who'd need "rescuing."
———
Meanwhile, inside the office they had just left, Ron was still wailing uncontrollably.
The Ravenclaw boy sitting behind the desk looked completely unfazed by it, clearly used to this sort of thing. He rolled his eyes wearily and said, "You're Ron Weasley, from Station No.17, right?"
At those words, Ron froze.
Hearing his own name felt like someone had cast a spell, snapping him out of his manic state.
He glanced at the large M.O.M.H.L factory logo on the wall, and a cold sweat broke out all over him.
Because he hadn't read his contract carefully when signing it, he didn't realize this Ravenclaw might've known his real name from the paperwork.
The only thing he could think now was that his secret part-time job had been discovered, and that Link knew everything.
The thought hit him like a thunderbolt.
He pictured the humiliation that was surely waiting for him and almost wanted to die on the spot.
His gaze went blank as he stared at the Ravenclaw clerk.
The boy sighed impatiently and asked again, "So are you or aren't you Ron Weasley?"
Ron trembled and muttered, head down, "I… guess… not?"
"Station 17, wow, you actually worked a full eight hours today! Processed 45 batches of wormwood and 14 of scarabs! Not bad, not bad."
"Your base pay is 2 Galleons and 6 Sickles, with a bonus of 13 Sickles. Hmm, after Ministry taxes, that comes to a total of 3 Galleons and 1 Sickle."
Maybe he hadn't heard Ron's denial, because the Ravenclaw boy rattled off the numbers matter-of-factly before suddenly looking up and asking, "Sorry, did you say something just now?"
"N-no, nothing! I didn't say anything!"
Ron shook his head so hard it was like a rattle drum.
The thought of three whole Galleons completely shattered any resistance he'd had left.
At that point, even getting mocked by Link didn't sound that bad anymore, as long as he got to keep the money.
"Alright then, if that's confirmed, here's your pay."
The Ravenclaw reached into a big pouch and counted out three gold coins and one silver coin.
Ron snatched them up like a starving dog lunging for food.
The feel of those coins in his sweaty palm filled him with an overwhelming sense of satisfaction.
He'd never held that much money in his life.
Then another question popped into his mind.
"Uh, hey, could I ask… what's this 'bonus' thing? I thought my hourly rate was only five Sickles?"
He asked carefully. He'd never heard of bonuses being part of this job before.
The moment he said it, though, he regretted it.
What if the clerk realized he'd been overpaid and took it back?
He almost bolted for the door.
But instead, the Ravenclaw's face twisted in anger.
"Bonus? Human Resources didn't tell you? Damn it! Those lazy idiots, too busy slacking off to do their jobs!"
He cursed HR for a while, then turned back to Ron with a forced smile.
"Everyone gets performance bonuses. It's just that each department has a different limit. For your workshop, the basic quota is three batches per hour. Anything beyond that earns you a proportional bonus."
"And if I don't hit the quota?" Ron blurted out.
The Ravenclaw replied in a strangely meaningful tone, "Then your base pay gets reduced accordingly, of course."
Then he suddenly raised his voice. "Every quota is set based on the lowest worker standard! If you can't even reach that, it just means you were slacking off! We're already paying such high wages at this rate, you people should be grateful!"
Ron flushed with embarrassment.
He had to admit, he really had thought about slacking off before. It was only that scoreboard that had pushed him to actually try hard.
And now he realized, there was a line of other students waiting behind him to collect their pay.
Clearly, the Ravenclaw clerk hadn't said all that just for him.
"Alright, anything else? If not, move along. Can't you see there's a line behind you?"
The clerk said impatiently after finishing his impromptu lecture.
Ron nodded frantically, as if pardoned, and backed out of the office.
By mid-September, the weather at Hogwarts was already getting chilly.
As soon as Ron stepped out of the warm office and workshop, the cold wind in the corridor made him realize how hungry and exhausted he was.
For a boy his age, working all day without eating was no small thing.
Still, despite the fatigue, Ron's heart was racing with excitement.
That was the power of the coins clutched in his hand.
Even though the sweat had made them sticky and disgusting, he couldn't help kissing them anyway.
With this money, he could finally buy a set of robes that actually fit, no more teasing because his ankles stuck out.
With this money, maybe for Christmas he could even give Harry and Hermione a real gift for once.
Oh right, he was still fighting with Harry and Hermione. Scratch that idea.
Maybe it'd be better to buy something for Mum and Dad instead.
Like an automatic gnome expeller.
Then the garden wouldn't get wrecked by gnomes anymore, and he wouldn't have to help chase them every time he went home.
Or maybe some new kitchenware?
The set they had now was from their wedding, and after all these years it was practically falling apart.
———
[It was Afternoon]
The factory corridors were crowded with people coming and going, lively and bustling.
Ron walked toward the far end of the hall, daydreaming about how he'd spend his money, not even remembering to pull up his scarf.
He felt happier than he ever had in his life.
But then, in the next instant, he suddenly saw Harry and Hermione coming from the opposite direction, chatting and laughing with a large group of people.
That sight yanked Ron straight out of his daydream.
He quickly pulled up his scarf and ducked behind the door of a nearby classroom.
Heart pounding, he peeked through the crack and saw Harry's group walk straight into the big office across the hall.
'They're working here too? Yeah, that must be it!
Harry and Hermione have been pretty close with Link lately, maybe they're helping him recruit workers. Maybe they even get paid per person they bring in!'
With that thought, the coins in his hand suddenly didn't feel so precious anymore.
His happiness evaporated.
"Ron?"
"What are you doing here?"
Two familiar voices, tinged with mischief, sounded from right behind him.
The instant he heard them, Ron instinctively tried to bolt.
But before he could move, two strong arms hooked under his and lifted him clean off the ground.
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