Balance: by rabbit
Disclaimer: I'm running out of clever ways to say that JK Rowling is a lot better writer than I am. Just believe me when I say that she is the only person who deserves to profit off of Harry and Co. I'm not even that happy about Warner Bros. Being legal holders of the copyright, to tell the truth…
Chapter 5: Planning
Summary: The students start to get organized.
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Hermione pulled a face. She didn't like Trelawney any better than Harry did. Less so, really. But before she could think of an answer, Ron reappeared, dragging a cringing Fang by his collar.
"I found him, Harry!"
"Well done, Ron," Harry said, glad of the momentary distraction. Poor Fang, he looked like the thunder was hurting his ears. "Hermione, have you got another set of those Hear-muffs?"
"No," Hermione admitted, but she pulled out her wand and a couple of Kleenex. In a minute, she'd managed to transform them into a pair of fluffy cotton earplugs. Fang wasn't sure he wanted to let her put them in his ears, but he allowed it, and then relaxed a little, leaning his big head on her thigh in drooling gratitude.
"I thought you needed thistles," Ron said.
"I do. These block out all the sound. But it's better than the thunder," Hermione said.
Harry had had a chance to think while she was working, and to look around the hall. Most of the prefects had Hear-Muffs, but a lot of the other students were still waiting, and the younger ones had put fingers in their ears. Some of the second years looked ready to cry, and some of the first years were crying. Many of the older students were almost as wet as Harry was, but none of them were as muddy. Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws and Gryffindors were mostly all mixed up together, but the Slytherins were starting to gather a little ways apart, and a lot of them were looking at the door with stiff, worried faces.
"Can you make a lot of those earplugs in a hurry, Hermione? I mean, until they get the thistles they need?"
"I could," Hermione said, "if I had any more tissues."
"Would toilet paper work?" Ron asked.
She blinked. "It might."
"Right," Ron said. "I'll take Fang up to Hagrid, and you and Harry pop down to the girls' loo and you'll be all set."
"Would you mind going by yourself?" Harry asked Hermione. "I think I'd better go talk to the prefects."
"Whatever for?" Hermione asked.
"They're just waiting for the teachers to tell them what to do, I think. They haven't figured out the colors. And they'll listen to me. It's not fair, but they will." He shrugged defensively, unsure that even Hermione and Ron would understand why he felt so sure that he could trade on the fame he didn't want to make the older students listen, and unsure himself of why he felt that he should. "I can't just… not do anything."
But Hermione nodded and smiled. "Right. Madame Pomfrey could probably use some help," she said, and twisted on her heel to head out of the hall.
"And the rest of us could use dry clothes, blankets, food…especially the food," Ron suggested. He tugged on the dog's collar. "Come on, Fang."
Harry, left on his own, took a deep breath. He knew he needed to talk to the prefects, but he had something else to do first. He was pretty sure Ron wouldn't like it, but Harry had a feeling that he needed to somehow keep the Slytherins from getting isolated from the rest of the school. Which meant getting Draco involved. "He did lend me his broom," Harry reminded himself, looking over to the shadowed corner where Draco was in huddled conference with a tall Slytherin.
He was thinking so hard about Draco, he was surprised when he suddenly heard Draco's voice across forty feet of the hall.
"…can't fly in that."
Harry blinked and lost the thread of the sound, but then he realized that the Hear-Muffs had to be responsible, so he focused again on Draco as he walked towards them.
"…probably just waiting for the lightning to stop. The Professor's too smart to take a stupid risk," the other boy was saying. Harry frowned. That sounded like Marcus Flint, didn't it? Wasn't he…
"But what if he's hurt?" Draco's whine interrupted the thought. He had to be talking about Professor Snape, Harry decided. It was just like the Slytherins to talk about their housemaster as if he were the only teacher in the school.
"McGonagall's with him, isn't she? And it's not like there could be another balrog out there. It'd be drowned in a minute." Flint shook his head at Draco. "He'd expect us to be too smart to take stupid risks too."
Draco looked frustrated, but he nodded. Then he glanced over and saw Harry coming and tensed up. "Here comes Potter," he said to Flint, his chin coming up and his expression going colder.
Harry tried not to let Malfoy's automatic snobbery get under his skin, but he waited until he was in normal conversational range before he spoke. No point in letting the Slytherins find out about how well the Hear-Muffs worked if they didn't already know.
"You're a mess, Potter," Draco said, wrinkling a disdainful nose. "What did you do, go wallowing in the mud? Getting back to your roots?"
"Not exactly." Harry said. This was going to be tricky. Talking to Draco Malfoy was always tricky if you were trying not to lose your temper. "Were you able to get your broom back from Madame Hooch, Draco?"
Draco shook his head. "No. Some fool dropped it in the mud. You didn't happen to pick it up when you were out there crawling around, did you?"
"No, sorry. If it's broken I'll buy you another one." Harry wasn't sure what prompted him to make that offer. He'd much rather buy a broom for Ron. But Draco blinked and then sneered..
"I don't need you to buy me a broom, Potter. Draco said. "Buy one for yourself. It still won't keep up with the one my father's going to buy me for Christmas."
"Lucky you," Harry said, with feeling. He'd have to forget about being nice and just get to the point. "Listen, Draco, I've got to go tell the prefects what the merpeople said about the balrog. I'd like you to come with me. You know more about balrogs than anyone else here."
Draco blinked again, and his sneer faded as he took a moment's consideration over Harry's statement, as if he were looking for a humiliating trap. "True," he said finally. With a jerk of his head at Flint that was somehow a command to keep watching he came forward and fell into step beside Harry.
"It is dead isn't it?" Draco said when they were far enough away that Flint shouldn't have been able to hear them. Harry had the feeling that knowing about balrogs was the first thing that anyone outside Slytherin had ever found valuable about Draco, and he was willing to milk it for the attention all he could get, but not if it meant losing the other Slytherins' good opinion of him.
"Not exactly," Harry said.
"What do you mean, not exactly?" A worried note crept into the cultured tones. "Do you mean it's nearly dead, or undead?"
Harry shook his head. "The merpeople said it was said banished back to it's own place and time."
Draco's shoulders came down the inch they'd gone up. "Well, that's all right then. So why do you need me?"
"I think we're still under attack." Now that he'd said it, Harry realized that it was true. It wasn't the same sort of attack as the balrog had been, but it was definitely going to be a siege.
"That's ridiculous, Potter. Who'd attack Hogwarts…" Draco fetched up suddenly, and Harry had a feeling he was biting back "with me still in the castle." The blond boy looked uncertainly up at the lightning spangling the enchanted ceiling. "I think you're jumping at shadows, Potter. It's just a bad storm. What's the matter, lightning setting off that scar of yours?"
"No. As a matter of fact it isn't." Which probably meant that the attack wasn't by Voldemort. Still… "But it's not natural lightning. There's too much of it, for one thing. And it feels wrong."
Draco shrugged one shoulder, half agreement, half "so what?"
"With most of the teachers hurt," Harry began, and saw Draco's face narrow and still at the thought, "we're going to have to be the ones who figure out what to do." Harry sighed, and bit his lip, trying to think it through. "Do you think there's any chance that we might have been … dragged along with the balrog somehow?"
"Rubbish, Potter." Draco said quickly. "Balrogs live in smoke and flames. This is lightning and rain. That's water, in case you hadn't noticed."
They'd reached the table where most of the prefects were gathered. Neville Longbottom was also sitting there, waiting for more thistles to transform, but he'd obviously been watching them come and had heard some of the conversation. "Something's still wrong, though," he said, "Look at Trevor." His toad was hopping in a restless circle. Draco just looked superior, but Neville went on. "Animals can feel things we can't. And the castle's trembling. You can tell if you put your hand on the table."