Disclaimer: I don't own The Maze Runner or Harry Potter. Please don't sue me.

Author's note: Yay, plot development! I am fairly pleased with the changes in canon I've begun to set up.

Out of curiousity, who's your favorite deceased character from The Maze Runner? I can save more than just my favorites!

Until next week,

seekerofbooks

Chapter Five: The Storm

The city was just out of reach now— so close Hermione felt as if she could reach out and touch it. The weather conditions had turned from uncomfortable to unbearable, with the dust and sand thickening into fog. The kids around her kept wiping crust from their eyes, scrubbing so hard they turned red. The wind turned sharper, stabbing at her with unprecedented ferocity.

Rubble flew by them, each piece seeming bigger as it whizzed past her head. Bits of paper. Pebbles. The occasional tree branch.

A sudden flash of light in her peripheral vision made her whip her head around. "What was that?" she coughed, covering the cloth over her mouth. No one had had a chance to answer when the sky exploded in bursts of fire. Thunder echoed through her ears, leaving a terrible ringing sensation.

She continued to run for lack of a better plan. The ground swayed and shook as she stumbled toward the outline of the nearest building. People around her lost their footing on rocks, but she was too shaken to even process that she wasn't alone.

A shudder of light just in front of her sent Hermione reeling backward, her vision flickering with sight almost lost.

She managed to shove forward a few steps, blinking the dark from her eyes. A wall of flames blocked her path, and she hurriedly scooped up a handful of dust to put it out. Gasping for a breath of air among the smoke, she fell to her knees and crawled several feet. Another crash of lightning sent her scrambling to her feet, fueled by adrenaline. The first building was now mere paces ahead of her.

Ducking inside, she dropped to the ground, curling into a tiny ball. A few other kids she didn't know the name of had filtered inside before her, each one trembling.

She heard the first drop of rain just as Newt and Thomas rushed in, dragging along the body of someone who'd obviously been struck with lightning. Clothes charcoaled but not destroyed, patches of skin turned ruby-red— definitely burned.

The rain began to fall in bucketfuls, the downpour so heavy that it appeared to be a single sheet of water.

Thomas and Newt set the body down in a corner, where the person pulled in their shoulder and set their head between their knees. Hermione took a tentative step toward them, brow furrowed. Thomas lifted his head towards her, revealing gray eyes so clouded they almost looked black. Sliding down against the wall, Newt set himself gently on the ground.

"It's Minho," Thomas said with a jerk of his thumb. "Slinthead got himself struck by lightning."

"Slim it," the boy groaned from the floor. The corner's of Newt's mouth twitched up at the comment. Thomas sank down to the floor, folding his arms across his chest.

"What now?" Hermione prodded, awkwardly dropping to the ground. "We've made it to the city— how much longer do you expect we'll need to travel?"

Newt picked at a dry spot on his cheek. "Dunno. It's not like WICKED just flat-out told us where to go."

Lacing her fingers together and setting them on her lap, she shrugged. "You'd think they'd give you a bit more help."

"What are you getting at?" Newt straightened his posture so as to better glower over her. She couldn't contain a small chuckle; it was a bit like Ron getting angsty with her and Harry— it was so hard to take him seriously, but she felt bad for laughing.

"Nothing, nothing. Only that you're kids, is all."

"They dumped us off in a shuckin' wasteland! D'you really think they'd go easy on us based off what you've seen?" His face grew very red, similar in color to a tomato.

"Shut up!" Minho called suddenly. "I'm trying to sleep, you slintheads."

"Sorry," she said quickly, scurrying away. The sound of raindrops on the roof was becoming stronger now, drowning out all other noise. She let her eyes close for a moment, taking in a deep breath. Warm, sticky air flooded her nose and mouth.

Allowing herself to get comfortable, she tucked her hands under her head and curled into a ball on the floor, her knees pressed almost to her chin.

[Elapse time: 5 hours]

The next time she opened her eyes, light had begun to filter inside, revealing crooked floorboards heavily lined with cracks. The other members of their party had started to stir, rubbing sleep from their eyes and murmuring to each other in hushed, low voices. Thomas and Newt were among them, their faces drawn and pained.

"Sometimes I wonder," Thomas was mumbling.

"Wonder what?"

"If being alive matters. If being dead might be a lot easier."

Something flickered across Newt's face. "Please. I don't believe for one second you really think that."

Hermione approached them, her feet creaking on the old wooden boards. Thomas flinched.

"Should put a bell on you," Newt put in wearily, "so you're not givin' me a bloody heart attack every time you move."

Hermione forced a smile. "Maybe."

A groan issued from below them. "Oh man," Minho grieved. "I'm shucked. I'm shocked for good."

"How bad is it?" Newt asked, kneeling next to him. Minho pulled himself to a sitting position rather than answering, yelping with every movement. Although his clothes had been charcoaled, he only seemed to have a few burns, and somehow still had all his hair.

"Can't be too bad if you can do that," Thomas said, brushing his palms against his pants.

"Shuck it," Minho retorted. "I'm tougher than nails. I could kick you pony-lovin' butt with twice this pain."

Thomas gave a half-shrug. "I do love ponies. Wish I could eat one right now."

Hermione's stomach churned at the thought— disgusting.

"Was that a joke?" Minho laughed. "Did Thomas the boring slinthead actually make a joke?"

Hopefully, Hermione grumbled internally.

"I think he did," Newt responded with a grin.

Thomas threw his hands up. "I'm a funny guy."

"Yeah, you are." Minho glanced around, his interest slipping. His lips formed the shape of numbers; one, two…

"How many?" Thomas asked after a moment's pause.

"Eleven," Newt said. "Only eleven."

"Six died in the storm, then?" Minho inclined his head toward the door. "Seven?"

"Jack's missing, and Winston never had a chance." Newt flicked a speck of dirt from under his nail, glaring at Minho. "I don't see Stan or Tim, either. What about them?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Minho shushed him, holding his palms up towards Newt. "Slim it nice and calm, brother. I didn't ask to be the shuck leader. You wanna cry all day about what's happened, fine. But a leader can't afford to to do that. A leader has to focus on what's to come and how best to protect who's still alive."

Newt balled his fists, his brow furrowing. "Well, guess that's why you got the job, then." The anger suddenly drained from his face, and he shook his head. "Whatever. Seriously, sorry. I just…"

"Yeah, I'm sorry, too. Don't worry about it." Minho rolled his eyes, though Newt was too busy wallowing in shame to notice. Another boy —she was fairly certain his name was Aris— scooted over to talk with them.

"You guys ever seen anything like that before?"

"Never in my life," Hermione moaned. "Couldn't have been natural."

"Bet it was WICKED," Newt said, pulling his knees into his chest. "Just another of their games."

"Everything's orchestrated by them, huh?" Thomas added absentmindedly, scratching a scab off his elbow.

Aris shrugged. "Probably."

A sudden wet gurgle emanated across the room. Minho raised a hand. "That was me, guys. Sorry."

"We need food," decided Thomas. "We'll have to poke around for some soon."

"Oh god, yes," Aris mumbled. "I could really go for some food right about now."

"Food?" A creak in the floorboards above them sent every head leaning upwards. A flash of gray cloth whizzed by them, leaping from the remnants of the third floor. He flipped end over end before rolling into a front tuck and stopping a few paces in front of Hermione.

Unfolding his legs, he rose before them. "My name is Jorge," he smiled with arms outstretched. "And I'm the Crank who rules this place."