Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or The Maze Runner, unfortunately. Don't sue me.
Author's Note: Yay, Chapter Eight! This was such a fun interaction to write— I feel like these characters would really get along.
As I was re-reading The Scorch Trials and scanning for details, it struck me how dirty everything in the Crank town must have been. There was no way to dispose of waste, and certainly no public services.
Frankly, it's a miracle there was any order there at all.
Leave a suggestion for any scenes you might be interest in reading!
Enjoy the chapter!
Chapter Eight
The cans were slightly rusted, Hermione noticed, examining a spoonful of beans. "Are these expired?" she dared to ask.
A smirk tugged at the corner of Brenda's lips as she settled down beside Thomas. "As if you could afford to care."
That was fair. Hermione's hand shook as she carefully opened her mouth and dropped the contents of the spoon inside.
It tasted wet, somehow— lacking in flavor, it was simply a glob of bland chunks.
She forced herself to swallow, pushing aside the idea of food poisoning.
There were sausages being passed around as well, but she doubted they'd been refrigerated and had likely spoiled.
When her spoon scraped the bottom of the can, she set it on the floor in front of her.
"Can't say I loved the food," Newt said, nudging her shoulder, "but it's better than nothing."
Hermione nodded, twirling the spoon around her empty can.
"Doing alright, Crank?" he prodded, placing his finished meal beside hers. "You're quiet, for once."
She gave a half-shrug, staring into the floorboards. "I'm fine, considering we're sitting in a disease-ridden pigsty, eating out of rusted metal cans, and traveling miles in the desert."
He put a hand on her shoulder. "Welcome to paradise."
A laugh pulled free from her throat, dark and rasping. "I'm never going home, am I?"
Newt didn't respond immediately, his brow furrowing. "It's doubtful we'll even survive long enough to get out of here," he said harshly.
She leaned her back against the nearest wall. "You're probably right."
"I usually am." Newt tried to smile, wrapping his arms around his knees. "But it only means we have to try harder. As far as Tommy's concerned, we have two options; for here, or get out. Get to freedom."
"Do you want to make it?"
He frowned, scratching the back of his neck. "It's not exactly a choice."
"That's not what I asked."
Newt exhaled sharply, setting his head against the wall. "I know it isn't."
Hermione allowed a sigh to escape her lips. "This place is like a bundle of my worst fears all set in a creepy deserted town. Not a great combination."
He shrugged. "It just gets better and better."
She held up her empty can in a toast. "To an ever-unfolding situation."