Chapter 504 Ron's Ambition

Chapter 504 Ron's Ambition
Harry's steps were a little heavy.

He walked into the Great Hall and went straight to the Gryffindor table, sitting next to Ron and Hermione, looking even paler than usual.

Ron was stuffing bacon into his mouth. When he saw Harry's appearance, he almost choked. He patted his chest and asked in surprise, "Oh my God, buddy, what's wrong with you? Why do you look so bad?"

Harry looked at his two best friends, his face hesitated for a moment, Filch's grief-stricken expression flashed through his mind, and he finally decided not to say anything, but said coldly: "It's okay, maybe I'm too tired these days."

Hermione frowned, obviously not believing it, but she didn't ask any more questions. She just sat up straight and said, "Then you'd better adjust your schedule. We have a lot of homework to do today. You haven't finished Professor Sprout's paper on self-pollinating shrubs yet, right? Also, Professor McGonagall asked us to practice the Inanimate Conjurus spell. If you don't practice, you might make a fool of yourself in the next class."

Harry was about to reply when Ron wailed dramatically, "Hermione, come on! Today is such a great Quidditch day, the sun is shining, the wind is just right, how can we waste it writing an essay?"

Hearing about Quidditch training, Harry seemed to feel better. He tried to suppress the unpleasant memories in his mind and agreed, "Yes, Hermione, no matter how hard we try, we can't surpass you in schoolwork, but Quidditch is our strong point."

Hermione rolled her eyes in dissatisfaction: "But you should at least show a sense of responsibility?"

But the two boys had already started discussing the tactics for the new season, completely ignoring her advice. Hermione pursed her lips tightly, stood up with her book in her arms, and said coldly, "It's up to you, but don't blame me for not reminding you that Professor McGonagall's requirements for this exercise are stricter than before."

Harry and Ron were not moved at all, and quickly finished their breakfast, and then went to the Quidditch field excitedly. They flew in the air for a full two hours, enjoying the pleasure of flying freely, until hunger struck again, and then they returned to the castle for lunch.

Hermione sat at the other end of the long table, holding a book in her hand, and glanced at them unkindly. When Harry and Ron sat down, she finally couldn't help it, put down the book, and said coldly: "You really have no sense of responsibility at all."

Ron took a bite of the pie nonchalantly and said vaguely, "Hermione, don't nag me like that every time. We have formal training this afternoon and we can't study hard all day like you."

Hermione pursed her lips tighter, took a deep breath, didn't argue anymore, just continued to read. She felt a little bit of indescribable disappointment - not only for the immaturity of Harry and Ron, but also for the academic atmosphere of Gryffindor as a whole.

Slytherin has been thriving under Sherin's leadership. She has heard that Slytherin students are not only at the top of the class in Defense Against the Dark Arts and Potions, but even the borrowing records of the Hogwarts Library show that Slytherin students have recently borrowed more academic books than other colleges.

And what about Gryffindor? When it comes to studying, everyone either avoids it or does it perfunctorily.

Hermione clenched the quill in her hand, and for the first time a strange thought popped up in her mind - maybe, if she were admitted to Slytherin, would there be a possibility that things would be better than now...

……

On the Quidditch training ground, Gryffindor players were training seriously. The air was filled with the sound of whistling wind and the rapid airflow of brooms.

Angelina Johnson was shouting commands in the center of the field, waving her arms to ask the players to adjust their formation. Katie Bell and Aaliyah Spinnett worked in perfect harmony, passing the Quaffle accurately. Every accurate pass made her smile with satisfaction.

However, Ron Weasley, the goalkeeper, was obviously absent-minded. He tightly grasped the broom handle, his face was paler than usual, and every time the Quaffle flew towards him, his movements seemed slow and flustered, and he even barely touched the ball a few times, completely lacking the agile reaction that a qualified goalkeeper should have.

At this moment, four figures slowly walked into the audience seats of the training ground. Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson, Cassius Warrington and Graham Montague all appeared quietly.

Instead of mocking loudly as they did in the past, they stood quietly in the audience seats, observing Gryffindor's training attentively.

Draco stood at the front, arms crossed, his blond hair gleaming in the morning light, his expression showed no contempt, but a calm scrutiny. Compared to his arrogant attitude in the past, he now looked more like a qualified Quidditch team leader, knowing how to calmly observe and analyze his opponents.

He glanced at the Gryffindor players in training, observing their coordination, passing angles and speed, and occasionally exchanged a few words with Cassius.

Pansy was standing aside, carefully recording every piece of data and thought that Draco said with a quill pen.

Ron caught a glimpse of them, and his already tense nerves instantly became even more tense. His breathing became rapid, his heart was pounding, and the sweat on his palms almost soaked the broom handle.

"It's the Slytherins, they're looking at me... They must be waiting to see me make a fool of myself..." Ron's head was buzzing and his fingers clenched tighter and tighter.

He forced himself to keep his eyes on the incoming Quaffle, but in his peripheral vision, the figures of the Slytherins were always like a heavy piece of lead, pressing on his shoulders, making it difficult for him to breathe.

The next second, Angelina raised her hand and threw the Quaffle out. It rushed straight to the goal with a strong wind. Ron instinctively reached out to block it, but missed. The Quaffle hit the goal post hard, making a dull thud! "Ron!" Angelina roared, "Focus!"

On the sidelines of the training ground, Draco saw it all, but his expression remained calm, without any mocking smile.

Pansy snorted softly, tilted her head to look at Draco, and said playfully: "Their goalkeeper seems--"

Draco shook his head slowly, his voice steady and calm: "Don't jump to conclusions. His problem is not technical, but psychological."

Pansy raised an eyebrow: "Psychological?"

"He was too nervous. He was so nervous that he couldn't perform at his normal level." Draco's eyes were still on Ron, sharp and cautious. "He felt guilty from the beginning, especially after he found out we were watching him, his performance became even worse. The more he fears failure, the more mistakes he makes."

Cassius chuckled and said with interest, "So, in the official competition, we don't have to put in any effort at all, and Ron Wesley will hand the competition over to us?"

Montaigne nodded in agreement: "Indeed, it looks like Gryffindor's defense won't be a problem this year."

Ron on the field obviously didn't hear their conversation, but he could feel the gazes on him. His fingers became more and more stiff, and sweat slid down his forehead. When he tried to adjust his state, a Quaffle suddenly attacked from the side. He reached out hastily, but missed, and his whole center of gravity was unbalanced, and he almost fell off the broom!
The Slytherin students below did not laugh at all, but Ron's heart was already tense and the string had completely broken. He flew all over the place, his face flushed, his eyes full of embarrassment and annoyance.

In the audience, Draco turned and left, saying without any interest: "Let's go, there's nothing to see anymore."

He took the lead and left, followed by the others. Pansy looked back at the Gryffindor training ground, sneered, shrugged, and left.

In front of the goal, Ron stared at their departing backs, his face burning with shame and anger. He tightly grasped the broom handle, cursed under his breath, and was filled with annoyance.

Ron's face looked extremely ugly, his heart was still beating violently, he stared at his broom, his palms turned slightly white from being clenched too tightly.

He gritted his teeth and swung the broom handle hard, as if to shake off some thoughts that shouldn't exist. But the feeling of unwillingness still lingered in his mind.

"It's not my fault at all...it's this broken broom that's so terrible!"

His broom was second-hand and very old. The wood on the handle had become rough and even cracked in some places. The branches at the end of the broom were messy and uneven, and it always seemed unstable when flying, as if it might fall apart at any time.

If I had a Firebolt...

His eyes involuntarily fell on Harry's Firebolt. The broom had an obsidian-like smooth handle, an extremely smooth shape, and was as fast and agile as a dragon in the air... If I could have such a broom, maybe I could do better than Harry!

Once this idea came into his mind, it began to grow wildly in his heart, like a long-buried seed that finally broke through the ground.

money.

Ron felt an inexplicable desire in his heart. He thought of his family situation, how his parents had to rely on others to give them new clothes, and how he worried about his brothers' old books and robes when school started every year...

He even thought of Percy.

The brother whom he used to dislike the most moved out after a quarrel at home and worked hard in the Ministry of Magic, trying to prove himself. Ron always thought Percy was too snobbish, but now, he suddenly understood Percy a little.

Having wealth means choice, freedom, and not having to be forced to accept charity from others.

His eyes rested on Harry's Firebolt, and a complex emotion flashed in the depths of his eyes that he himself was not aware of.

If I had a Firebolt... If I had money...

Ron lowered his head and clenched the broom tightly, his nails almost digging into the rough wooden handle, and his desire for money in his heart was stronger than ever.