After two weeks, Harry thinks he's been quite patient enough with the curfews and the restrictions and most of all with Draco. Draco's already asleep, sprawled across the bed and hard to wake as always. But Draco's been crowing for two weeks about his father sending Hagrid - 'that lunatic gamekeeper; Harry, you know he was drunk' - to Azkaban, so he's coming to see Hagrid proved innocent.
The number of spiders in Hogwarts really doesn't bear thinking about, because they've been leaving for months and it's still easy to find lines of them crawling away. He gets Draco halfway across the lawn before Draco stops dead.
"What is it now?"
"Broomsticks." Draco's voice is decisive and - finally - awake.
"Huh? We're not practicing Quidditch, Malfoy. Stop stalling."
Draco's turning and tugging the cloak in the opposite direction anyway. "We're going in that forest again, I want a way out, Potter. Broomsticks." So Harry waits a little longer while Draco breaks into the Slytherin Quidditch equipment locker.
The brooms are heavy as they walk through the forest, but they give him something to hold as he tries to talk civilly to the giant spider, Aragog. Draco's been scared into silence, clutching at Harry's arm so hard he's going to leave bruises again. Probably on purpose.
Maybe with reason, because as soon as Harry finds out what he wants, they're prey. Draco's off like a shot - straight up, trying to dodge spiders three times as large as a bludger, and Harry's right after him, trying to think of Quidditch.
Trees in the Forbidden Forest grow straight up for what seems like miles, tall and thin, impossible to see properly in the dark. The spiders can't jump as well, can't swarm, but up here they've got webs strong enough to catch birds. The Firebolts go through them like paper, but it's only luck that neither of them plow into a tree-trunk.
Finally Harry breaks above the canopy, coated in sticky cobwebs and leaves. Draco blasts a spider that somehow anticipated them, crouched to spring on one of the topmost branches, with a vicious sneer that lapses very quickly into white-faced exhaustion. "Spiders," he hisses, and he sounds just a little unhinged. "Spiders, Potter! Your imbecile giant tried to kill us again! I hope he rots in Azkaban!"
"He's innocent, Draco," Harry replies, trying to wipe his glasses off. "Didn't you hear? Hagrid never opened the Chamber, it was someone else." But Draco's already off, zooming back towards the school.
Harry catches up with him in the bath - Draco's scrubbing at his face hard enough to turn it pink, but he spares a good long glare for Harry. They're antique baths, with feet and cracked porcelain. Harry turns on the tap for another, and looks around for a towel. "Hagrid's innocent."
Draco sneers, somewhere behind him. "You're taking the word of a huge spider." Draco hates being afraid, and Harry knows he was terrified back in the Forest. The only thing to do with him is wait until he lashes out. Hopefully in the morning. Hopefully at someone else.
"It did talk, after all." Harry walks back slowly with his towel and bathrobe, trying not to let his footsteps echo. "What great enemy do spiders that big have, do you think?"
He isn't watching carefully enough, so it's the easiest thing in the world for Draco to grab him as he passes, and push his head under the water. Harry screams and thrashes and - when Draco lets him up - leans against the tub while he catches his breath.
Draco is scowling, fingers clenched tight on the school tie Harry ought to have taken off already. "What have you been feeding Nag all term? It's snakes, Potter. Very large snakes." His voice drops to a venomous whisper. "If you get me involved in anything like that, Harry, I will smother you in your sleep. Understand?"
Harry nods just a little, dripping, eyes shut against the water. Snakes. Figures.
"Go clean yourself up, then. You're a wreck."
