A/N: I don't own Harry Potter
This is for the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Assignment #5 EpidemiologyTask #3. Natural disasters: Write about something or someone doomed to fail.
Word Count: 403
Ron stared at the sheet of parchment in front of him. He was sure Hermione would have known the answer, but he couldn't think of it right now. Instead, his mind replayed lunch and how much he really wanted another piece of fried chicken at the moment.
Unfortunately, he was about ninety percent sure fried chicken had nothing to do with the goblin revolt of 1823. Maybe it did, but he didn't remember even discussing chicken in history of magic. He remembered Harry laughing about something, what was it, a name of one of the goblins maybe?
He tilted his head, maybe if he looked at the question sideways it would make more sense. He spent most of history in this position, half asleep from the boring lectures of Professor Binns. Wait! That was it!
Capita the Boring, he jotted down smiling slightly. He remembered one of the goblins being titled boring, he'd even made a joke about it with Harry later. He remembered Harry had laughed at the joke. Hermione had simply rolled her brown eyes and said something either bossy or mean. She could be mean sometimes, but then again, Ron was sure he'd deserved. He'd made her cry once.
He regretted that now. Maybe if he'd been nicer to her, she'd have helped him remember all these stupid names? He looked at the next question and stared at it. Yes, Hermione would know the answer to all of these. He tried to think about when she'd tried to help him study. He'd been more interested in the paper aeroplane race the twins had been having out the window.
Maybe he should have paid more attention to her? She'd been mad at him this morning about something. He tried to remember why exactly, but his mind returned to the fried chicken they'd had for lunch. Merlin, he really wanted another piece and maybe some mashed potatoes to go with it?
Wasn't there a goblin named Mashed something? He turned his attention back to his test. The quill had dripped dots onto the page. Ron connected them making it almost look like a name.
Hurzur the Mashed, he finished, certain someone had been named Mashed. There that was two questions down, only eighteen more to go. He sighed and wondered how much trouble he would be in if he just wrote chicken for all the remaining answers and failed the whole mess?