Roy Mustang was very much accustomed to the squeaking of Alphonse Elric's metal joints and the clanking of his heavy footsteps as he walked and his entire frame jangled like a pair of over-large keys. The same could not be said of the general populace of Amestris. Every loud footstep garnered the boy another wave of confused stares as commuters wandered through the train station. Mustang was sure if Al had the ability, his face would be flushed a brilliant fuschia. It was early in the morning and the only other people there were addled businessmen and mothers and babysitters with children running around their ankles and bags of groceries precariously balanced in their arms, threatening to spill across the tiles of the station floor. It was the only train to the UK for a couple of weeks and Al had been thoroughly insistent that he was going to see Ed as soon as possible even if it meant Mustang waking up at the arse crack of dawn to meet him outside the station. Mustang had groaned and complained but secretly agreed; as much as he liked to pretend he didn't care, he was genuinely worried for the one subordinate that refused to act as such.

The train showed up as they reached the platform, as if it had been planned that way. Al shot Mustang a look and he could decipher the intention even with the lack of expression-he had been later than they'd arranged but also Al had scheduled their morning in such a way that Roy could afford to be five, ten, or fifteen minutes behind schedule. He looked away and pretended Al wasn't looking down at him.

He stepped up onto the carpeted interior of the steam train and Al followed barely a moment behind. Nobody else from the platform followed and the door rattled closed. It was a short train made of only a few carriages and the one they found themselves in was sparsely populated at best. There was a man with a toddler snoring in the seat next to him, a prim and proper woman sitting with her back pin-straight in the corner as she shot frequent and untrusting glances towards the shady figure seated a couple of rows away with shifty eyes, a hair and hat combination that ensured his white face was thrown into shadow, and a visibly locked leather briefcase propped up against his leg.

Mustang sat down in a place that allowed him to watch the shady man, back facing the direction the train was beginning to sputter along in. Al sat opposite him, anxiously tapping his foot on the floor and making a terrible racket as he did so. Given the circumstances, Mustang didn't have the heart to tell him to stop.

Harry and Ron were just wandering somewhat absentmindedly. Harry had just gotten out of detention with Lockhart and had a slip of paper in his pocket permitting his location as they hovered on the edge of lightsout. Ron had made his way from the common room to meet his friend but neither of them was particularly concerned about getting back on time and the stairs in the school moved often enough and spontaneously enough to give them a believable excuse were they to be caught in some odd corner of the castle, so they just moved wherever the wind happened to take them, like wraiths drifting through the hallways.

They had just discovered a rather dejected looking painting-equally as caked in dust as the rest of its surroundings, looking at them from the wall with disbelieving eyes as they took slow, sweeping steps, kicking up dust, and talked about nothing in particular in low voices-when something more significant happened. The yellow light cast by the circle of the full moon on a cloudless night found its way into the space through the dirty window and highlighted the activity on the grimy windowsill.

Ron made a hissing intake of breath and stepped away from the window. Harry grinned. Something was happening. Maybe something big. Ron saw the look in his eyes, intent on looking absolutely anywhere but the windowsill, and gulped painfully. "Follow the spiders," Harry breathed under his breath, not believing the universe and the wind had joined forces with Lockhart of all people and provided them so clearly with an opportunity for answers and possibly even resolutions.

Harry craned over the windowsill, watching the lines of small spiders scuttling through the gap between the glass and the brick where small gusts of cold air from the night outside the castle were blowing in. The trail of arachnids was far too consistent to be a coincidence, especially in a world where magic was very much real and functional. "Come on!" Harry urged a spectacularly pale Ron.

"Why does it have to be 'follow the spiders'?" Ron lamented as their meandering wander turned into a very much intentional beeline to the door, "Why couldn't it be 'follow the butterflies'?" The great wooden door that led outside was heavy and locked but there was an easily moved bolt on the inside of the door and a simple unlocking charm inside their heads (one Ed had at some point confirmed very much worked on that door and Harry hadn't inquired about any further). It was like someone-maybe the school itself, maybe the headmaster with the mischievous glint in his eyes and the enigmatic gron hidden behind his grey beard-was urging them to leave and look for the answers they were in pursuit of. Whatever the case may be, Harry filed it away in his brain as an obvious sign and slipped the bolt. He barged his shoulder into the door and pushed with a little bit of help from a slightly green Ron until the door, with a squeak that made Harry cast a cursory glance over his shoulder, fell open enough for the boys to slip through. Harry made sure he kept a hold of the door until Ron was outside in the bitterly chilly air so he could shut it softly and avoid the vociferous crash that would almost certainly have drawn in Filch as if he were a shark and they were pouring pints of claret into the water.

They stuck close to the wall until they relocated the trail of spiders crawling down the rough surface, worn away by the unkindness of years and weather. The little creatures were unfazed by the haphazard series of zephyrs and gusts of wind that threatened to blow the boys off of their feet as it stung their faces scarlet. The spiders continued upon what seemed like a very clearly planned path. The trail of spiders led them around a corner so they were standing behind the great building and to the side of the stygian lake that took the light from the great, round moon and swallowed it into inky darkness rather than reflecting it back in gently distorted ripples. As they moved along the line, drawing ever further from the warm comfort of Hogwarts and ever closer to the potential peril of the foreboding Forbidden Forest, the spiders grew steadily larger and Ron grew steadily whiter.

Harry could tell the moment they entered the forest that this trail was perhaps not as much of a gift as he had at first considered it. It was like the air simultaneously became both warmer and colder: like the atmosphere around them was, in and of itself, bleaker but there were all manner of creatures breathing hotly down their necks. Harry shivered as something-either branch or spindly digits-brushed his upper arm and a sound like a subdued cackle drifted past them on the wind. It could have come from the complete other side of the forest, literal miles away from them, or it could have come directly from the dense canopy of leaves overhead that completely hid the moon from view. There were too many sounds in the forest to ever find silence; some Harry could find words to for, others would be best described by a violent tremor passing down the spine, extremities turning icy as cold creeps through veins, a dull ache in the head and steadily tightening pull in the stomach that won't go away. The warm, celestial light of the moon could not penetrate the canopy but there was still enough light to see by, as if the forest itself was ensuring you would see your own end should such a fate befall you.

There were spiders scuttling along the floor still, rising and dipping with the ditches and inclines and rocks that littered the mud. The further they got into the forest the more uneven the floor became and the further away from the size of house spiders the arachnids became. Harry toed a mushroom hesitantly as he noticed that the spiders were beginning to reach sizes he had never once seen of regular muggle sizes. He shuddered and tried not to show much more of a physical reaction to either the giant spiders or the strange, shimmering powder the fungus deposited in a rather whimsical little puff onto the scuffed patent leather of his shoe. Harry's hand was fixed steadfastly onto the fabric of Ron's cloak, making sure the boy-so sickly white he was bordering on translucent, and wrecked with consistent tremors so intense Harry was very much considering just letting him scamper back to the castle (however, Harry could tell if Ron wasn't there he would follow him straight back to the castle)-did not slip away.

He tried rather unsuccessfully to steel himself as the spiders began to approach knee-height and every fibre of his being screamed run. The trees surrounding them were swathed in unnervingly large spiderwebs and cobwebs. The spiders were large enough that Harry could very clearly see all eight of each of the spiders' eyes following him, observing in each grouping an off putting measure of intelligence and intrigue. Meanwhile, Ron was trying as hard as he possibly could to observe nothing at all.

There was a break in the trees and the moonlight flooded through. Ghastly shadows patterned the ground, the dusty, light brown colour of which was suddenly made discernable. Harry noticed a suspiciously red-tinged smear and then pretended he hadn't for the sake of his own state of mind. The light in the multifarious eyes made them gleam, making them all the more harder to ignore should Harry wish to look away from the coarse and very obvious hair covering their bodies and the slender curve of their sharp fangs. The approaching clearing was all but guarded by the spiders and curtains of dew-laden web, but they shifted out of the way as Harry and Ron approached. The intrigued gleam in the eyes became conspiratory. Ron shuffled closer to Harry. Harry was glad for it, even if Ron was clammy and shaking like the leaves in the wind.

They entered the clearing with stuttering footsteps and very quickly regretted it. There, central to the whole drawn-out arachnid organisation, was a beast of tarantula-esque persuasion only at least 3 times the size of Hagrid who was the largest person Harry was aware of. The beast towered on spindly legs and looked down at them with confusion and malice.

"Who are you?" It asked in a voice that was worryingly human though somehow both raspy and booming. Harry was half-convinced he could hear whispers and hisses from the large collection of spiders lining the clearing about food.

"We're friends of Hagrid?" Harry said unsurely, voice sounding distinctly staccato. Legs bent at the knee, the spider leaned down, drawing its great and gruesome face ever closer to them. Harry not-very-subtly leant away from the menacing point of the fang as it threatened to brush his skin.

"Friends of Hagrid?" the echoey tone parroted, face still close to Harry's own. He could feel the spider's breath on his face, hot and smelly much like it was being emitted from the maw of a hound. Harry nodded because he didn't know how else to respond. The spider twisted slightly so it was face to face with Ron, whose face was screwed up as tightly as he could manage, knobbly hand frantically running down Harry's arm until it reached his own hand. He squeezed Ron's hand but his friend didn't open his eyes and shifted himself closer to Harry. The spider made a noise akin to a scoff. Harry wishes he could find the idea of a spider scoffing funny. He likely would under any other circumstance. "I am Aragog. I, too, am a friend of Hagrids," And, wow, did Harry wish Hagrid had better judgement, "What business do you have here?"

None, Harry wanted to say, I sleepwalked here and I have no clue how I got here or who Hagrid is, but instead he pretended he had any mettle whatsoever. "The Chamber of Secrets has been opened,"

"Reopened," Aragog corrected as he reeled back, "It has been opened once before in my time,"

"Are you the monster?" Harry asked quietly. By that point, Ron's purpose by his side was little more than moral support, and he was pretty shit at even that. "Did Hagrid do it?"

"Does this look like a chamber?" The spider spoke almost as if doing so through a bark of laughter, "Hagrid did nothing wrong!"

"Then what is-"

"We do not speak of it!" and that might have been a shudder. The creature's mannerisms were repulsively human.

"But-" Harry wasn't even really sure what he was trying to say and he never got to find out. He was cut off by a sharp hiss as the spider drew itself up. Harry merely winced and recoiled helplessly as he suspected the giant spider who Harry knew he would be defenseless against was about to pounce. Instead, one of the smaller but still unnaturally large arachnids forming the outer circle that kept them trapped in the clearing pounced, soon followed by its companions. That was seemingly more manageable, even if only marginally and temporarily.

"Arania exumai!" Harry called, drawing his wand and flicking it. A blue light burst out of the end and collided with the spider closest to him. He began, at that moment, firing off the same spell repeatedly as he and Ron stood back to back. They were trying their best to fend off the encroaching beasts and Harry was certainly watching many a spider fall backwards, scorched and presumably dead. But, in hydra-like fashion, for every spider shot down, two more came rushing forwards. It didn't take long for the spiders to catch on and some learnt to dive away from the line of the spell before they could be struck down. Instead, the dusty ground was rendered scorched black in areas as the ultramarine skidded across it with all the grace of an olympic figure skater and none of the accomplishment.

The circle of spiders was tightening and Harry could feel their spindly legs crawling up his trousers and jumping out at him from the trees and rocks but he did not have the time nor ability needed to fend most, let alone all, of them off. It seemed hopeless and Ron was on the verge of sobbing as hairy legs scratched at his neck and his broken wand followed approximately 10% of the commands channelled through it. Harry didn't drop his wand but he had definitely given up on expecting any kind of significant result.

A/N

Hi everyone, I'm sorry for the late update: my computer broke and I've only just got a new one and I tried typing on my phone but it was awkward and killed my motivation to write. I know there really isn't much FMA in this chapter, but Ed is paralysed, I have plans for when Mustang and Al are going to arrive, and I do still need to progress the Harry Potter plot in some way or another. This isn't my favourite chapter for that reason, but at the same time, I do like to describe creepy forests.

I don't know that even now my updates will be as frequent as they were towards the beginning of the lockdown because our sixth form summer induction tasks have been published and I finally have some actual school work to do, but I will try my best, and that is a finite amount of work so hopefully this won't be too negatively affected by that. In other (but related) news, I have to do a presentation and I do not know what language I have to do it in because the induction pack doesn't specify, it's meant to be about a cultural thing so it would make sense it being in English, and I don't know this teacher because it's at a different school and, for whatever reason, I am way too nervous to send an email asking. Which basically means I am screwed because I can't talk in front of people ever and this is literal hell.

Anyway.

All the best,

We'reAllABitOdd