Disclaimer: I don't own The Maze Runner or Harry Potter. Don't sue me.
Author's Note: This chapter was so much fun to write! I loved seeing some of my all-time favorite characters interact.
I checked on the story's feedback this morning, and was blown away by how many follows and favorites I received. Thank you all so much!
This is my last irregular update. From this point forward, I'll be posting weekly and bi-weekly.
Enjoy the story!
Chapter Two:
She awoke that next morning with an undeniable feeling of guilt sitting in her stomach, like she was five years old again and had taken cookies from the jar without permission.
The Time Turner had been her responsibility, and she'd cracked it, if not broken it. It had to keep working— it had to! She couldn't accept being a mediocre student in mediocre classes— no offense meant towards Harry and Ron, who were, in truth, average students.
Today she decided to skip breakfast to test out the functions of the cracked Time Turner. The idea of sitting down to a plate of toast and eggs with Ron and Harry appealed to her, though she couldn't handle the idea of leaving her Time Turner in its condition.
"Bye, Parvati," she called out, nearly throwing the girl from the dormitory in her half-frantic state. "Right, Hermione," she muttered to herself, "just a few turns, that's it."
She braced herself for the usual lurch of her stomach, but it didn't come. Sighing, she slumped to the ground. It was probably destroyed. One crack! One tiny crack had pushed it over the edge!
She reached to pull it off, only to receive a surprisingly painful shock, like a bolt of lightning traveling through her, immobilizing each limb. Her eyes flickered into a spiraling darkness as she fought to retain consciousness. Bile rose from her throat and filled her mouth as her eyelids drooped. Unable to hold out, she surrendered to the pain and felt herself shift.
Hermione shuddered as people still as statues fluttered by her, mere snapshots. Soundlessly they slipped by her, leaving another image in their wake.
Suddenly she was launched forward into an image of two boys. Her throat burned with the desire to scream.
Stumbling uncontrollably, she fell between them.
Both boys seemed older than her, not just in years but experiences. A dark-haired boy with a crinkled forehead held a gun, his finger hovering over the trigger as though he couldn't bear to press it. The blond boy opposite him, tall and lanky, had patches of hair missing and dark circles under his eyes. He was screaming something at the other boy, his words thrown so loudly they rang in Hermione's ears, waving a sort of strange weapon at him threateningly.
The dark-haired boy took a step back from her and dropped the gun, but the blond continued to glare. "H'lo," she squeaked, flipping the Time Turner. As their faces faded to dark, she saw the dark-haired boy wipe his eyes and pick the gun back up.
A single hiccup escaped her and she began to sob as more pictures flashed. A boy around her age with a knife wedged in his stomach. A metal sphere where someone's head should be. People with wild eyes and grimy hair. Strangest of all, the dark-haired boy and blond boys talking quietly, flashing knowing looks at each other. She covered her eyes and let out a low moan. Her insides squirmed as though replaced with worms.
Hot, burning vomit escaped her lips as she fell forward, slamming against broiling cement. The fabric of her uniform snagged and tore on a jagged rock. Arms burning, she heaved herself to a sitting position and glanced around.
The sun was oddly bright, hissing as it met her pale skin. The ground of red clay seemed to have baked in the extreme heat as though put into a massive kiln. Ruined buildings, several on fire, accented the barren wasteland. Although she could hear shrieks, there were no people she could see nearby.
She heard movement behind her. "Shut up, you slintheads! It's a Crank!"
"I'm not a Crank," she sniffed. "Go away."
"You heard the Crank," said a boy with Asian features. "Let's move out!"
"Wait!" she called, scrambling to her feet. "Where are you going?"
"Away from this shuckin' place," a boy said. She was alarmed to see that he was the dark-haired boy from earlier.
"Move it, Tommy," said an older-looking boy. She did a double-take. It was the blond boy who'd glared at her; except he had no bald patches, and the circles under his eyes were much less pronounced. "We haven't got time for you to chat up the resident loonies."
"Did your hair grow back?" she asked without thinking.
The blond boy shared a glance with the dark-haired boy. "If we're gonna turn into a shank like her, then we'd better hurry."
"Have you all gone mad?" she exclaimed. "I'm only fourteen! You can't leave me here!" This was an odd situation, even for a witch.
"We don't have time for this, Crank. See you."
"I mean, we won't," the dark-haired boy shrugged. "You'll be dead soon." He turned away from her and started off towards the majority of his group.
"Bye, Crank," the blond boy grinned, strolling off. One of his legs dragged slightly behind the other. Hermione forced herself to jog after him.
"Wait!"
No response.
"Where are we?"
"It's the Scorch, you shank. Even we know that."
"What do you mean? Aren't you from here?"
"She's already gone wacko, huh, Tommy?"
"I have not gone wacko! And if you don't explain what's going on, I'll follow your group anyway!"
"Like I said. Wacko." The blond made a spheric motion with his finger. Crazy.
Hermione rushed up to him and grabbed his arm. "Please! I don't know what's going on!"
"Doesn't it seem a bit weird that she was dumped off here by herself? The other Cranks we've met have come in packs," the dark-haired boy noted.
"Maybe they left her for trying to eat someone."
"Bet WICKED dumped her here as a distraction."
"What's WICKED?"
The blond boy grabbed her collar. "Slim it! We don't have time for this. Tell WICKED that they can shove their plan up their—"
"Honestly! I've no idea what you're talking about! If anyone's wacko, it's you!" She kicked at his bad leg, hitting just below the knee. He yelped and dropped her, clutching at his leg. "Muggles, the lot of you!" she shrieked, stomping on his foot. "Now, listen to me! I'm supposed to be in a large castle somewhere near Scotland. I don't know how or why I'm here, but I blame this!" She held up the Time Turner and shook it at them.
"That's just an hourglass, you shuck-head!" the blond boy she'd kicked yelled.
"We don't want any trouble," said the dark-haired boy.
"Neither do I! But I'll- I'll hurt your friend here if you don't take me with you!" A shiny glint of metal caught her eye and she followed it to find a knife in the blond boy's belt. Snatching it up, she pressed the flat of the blade to his neck like she'd seen people do in movies and tried to suppress her shivers.
"If you do anything, my friend Minho here won't hesitate to jump you," the dark-haired boy threatened, gesturing to the Asian-looking boy who now stood next to him. Muscles rippled up and down his arms.
"I really don't want to slice him up, and I don't think he'd like that much either. Please, take me with you."
The boys frowned. "Fine," she said as nonchalantly as she could, scoring a long but shallow cut down the blond's leg. He grimaced, letting his hand drop to the bubbles of scarlet beginning to surface. "I won't ask again. Will you take me with you?"
The blond boy managed to shake his head at his friends, his eyes wide— no.
The muscled Asian boy —Minho— stepped forward. "Drop the knife. We'll bring you with us. But if you try to kill any of us, we're tying you up and dumping you off in the hot sun."
"Deal!" she cried excitedly, handing the knife to him. Glancing down at the boy she'd cut, she knelt next to him on the ground. "Sorry. I've never taken a hostage before! How'd I do?"
"Why would you expect that we'd have taken hostages before?"
"You wanted to leave me alone in the desert!"
"Any reasonable person would've done that. You're really very fortunate that we aren't blessed with loads of common sense. What's your name, Crank?"
"Hermione Granger. And yours?" She extended her hand, and he shook it lightly.
"Newt."
Minho stepped forward. "The other shank you've been talking with is Thomas, and I'm Minho." He glanced at Newt. "Need a bandage, shuck-face?"
"No. There's hardly any blood. Crank here barely knew how to hold that knife."
"Good. We haven't got any."
"What's a Crank?" Hermione burst out. "You keep calling me that."
Minho and Newt exchanged glances.
"These people have been attacking us. Some of them seem sane enough, but most are completely crazy. They've been calling themselves Cranks," Minho clarified.
"They all seemed to have the buggin' Flare on top of all that."
"The Flare?"
"Apparently it's some sort of virus that makes you go completely psycho. Then you die. And it's highly contagious. Real pleasant, I've heard."
"But I don't have it!" she protested. "Or I didn't, before I took you hostage."
"If that's true, why else would you be in the Scorch?"
"Don't ask me! I've no idea what's happening!"
"Even if you didn't have it before we found you," Minho put in, "you probably do now."
"So that's it— I'm going to go crazy and die surrounded by you lot?"
"No; the reason why we're here is because we were promised a cure. We just have to get to some shanky place."
"So I'll be cured too, since you're bringing me with you?"
"I should think so," said Newt. "But who knows? WICKED might just give you the boot."
"Who's wicked?"
"Some sort of shuck organization. We only found out about them ourselves a week or so ago."
"What do they do?"
"They're working towards a cure, or so they claim. Apparently we're an integral part of that, but they won't tell us why," Minho finished, crossing his arms.
"What've you got to do with anything?" Hermione prodded.
"Dunno. They've been screwing with us for years, but we've no idea why."
Years? They were only boys. A few years were a significant chunk of their lives. "How many?"
"No idea. Maybe ten or so, according to Thomas."
She hadn't even known about magic ten years ago, hadn't any friends her age, hadn't any idea what was in store for her. Vaguely she felt herself nodding, her head pounding. "I could do with a bit of Tylenol, if you've got it."
Minho laughed bitterly. "We've barely enough supplies to feed ourselves. Do you really think we have Tylenol?"
"No?" she guessed.
"Good answer." Minho turned away from her and announced a break.
Someone handed her a thin sheet. Their face blurred as she accepted it. Fatigue began to settle in her bones, leaving her dizzy and disoriented. Dropping to the ground, she pulled the linen over her head and felt the intense heat work its way through the cloth. Her breathing slowed in the warmth, the hot air fogging her head as she lost consciousness. It couldn't have been more than two hours since she'd been at Hogwarts, and yet she couldn't keep her eyes open.
Thoughts of Ron and Harry filtered through her mind as Hermione slipped away. Her fingers tightened around the Time Turner, and then she was gone.