Arachnophobia

Disclaimer: I own nothing remotely related to Harry Potter. All belongs to the brilliant JK Rowling.

My eyes gently fluttered open, my body cascaded in fuzzy warmth. I snuggled deeper into my sheets, willing sleep to come back, but my eyes refused to close again. With a disappointed sigh, I ripped the blanket off and sat up, instinctively peeking out the window to check the time. At the very edge of the horizon, soft orange light flooded the rolling hills, coating them the same color as my Chudley Cannon walls (Mum always taught me to root for the underdog, which I've never really understood). The comparison caused me to giggle, imagining my favorite Quidditch team flying out of the sun. That would be an awesome sight, especially for a team that's lost nearly every game.

I squeezed my eyes shut, letting my imagination show me the tiny figures on broomsticks, and listened for the usual mundane sounds that said the day was open for business. The house was abnormally quiet, however, even for the break of dawn. I knew part of that was due to the fact that Mum had taken Ginny, my annoying little sister, on her trip to visit Aunty Muriel for three days, and my oldest brother, Bill, was off at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I'd heard Mum and Dad talking very fondly of Hogwarts, and Bill says it's a blast. Charlie, my next oldest brother, got his letter just the other day, and he's super excited. I can't wait until I get to go . . .

The sound of a creaking door hinge brought me abruptly back into the house. I blinked my eyes open, pouting, annoyed my day-dream had been interrupted. Then another thought occurred to me, causing me to spin around in terror. No one else in the house should be awake this early. The only ones that might be were—

"Hello, dear brother," George declared airily, not even bothering to keep his voice down. He poked his head around my door and flashed me a cloying smile.

I frowned deeply as my older brother burst into my room with his twin, Fred. These two often behaved even younger and much more impish than Ginny, but they could do magic far better than any other five-year-olds in the history of wizards. They were masters of their art, unfortunately. They caused more trouble than us five other children combined.

Which is how I was positive this wouldn't end well.

"What do you want?" I snapped, instinctively hugging Mr. Stuffins, my teddy bear, closer to me. Well, saying "my" teddy bear is a bit too fanciful. In truth, I was the fifth to own this bear, it having passed through all my brothers. And the toy definitely showed it. Half its fur had fallen out, the other half was matted beyond belief, and stuffing was spilling out of its side. The button used for its right eye had fallen out many years ago (Percy claims he got it like that, but Charlie swears he didn't do it) and the left eye was soon to join it (thanks to Fred and George). The bear literally screamed hand-me-down.

Nevertheless, it was my favorite toy, and I loved it dearly. Therefore, when I saw George eyeing Mr. Stuffins, I tried desperately to hide him from my brother's hungry gaze by shoving him into my armpit.

"We just wanted to borrow your teddy bear," Fred answered in his cute I'm-just-an-innocent-little-demon voice. It was then I noticed he was hiding something behind his back.

"What's that you've got? It's not another broomstick, is it?" I asked snottily, knowing the answer couldn't be anything that nice.

"You mean to replace the one you destroyed?" Fred countered in a defiant voice, crossing his arms and sticking out his lower lip menacingly. This caused me to blush with guilt. I hadn't meant for his broomstick to catch on fire; Dad said it was natural to take a while getting used to magic. Besides, if they hadn't been trying to coat Ginny and me in sticky, gooey paint, I wouldn't have panicked. Nevertheless, Fred could be seen whispering secretly with George more often lately, probably scheming my demise.

"I said I was sorry," I mumbled under my breath, which was perfectly true. Mum didn't even have to make me that time.

Fred opened his mouth to argue, but George stomped on his foot. "Yeah, we know. We were there. But anyways—no, Mum hasn't gotten us a new broom," he said sulkily.

"Oh," I muttered quietly, feeling a little worse than before, but then the original problem came back to me. "Then what do you have?" I asked, starting to get annoyed. It was early, I was tired, and these two were beating around the bush.

Reluctantly, Fred revealed what was behind his back. I gasped loudly, but managed to quickly hide it behind a cough. Fred and George both hissed, "Shush!"

"But- but- that's Dad's wand!" I whispered as loud as I could. "You two are gonna be in so much trouble!"

"Nuh uh," George said quickly, "because ickle Ronniekins won't tell on us, will he?"

I wanted to shout "Yes, I will!" but I paused for a moment. It would be satisfactory to hear Dad tell these two off, but I was scared to be on the receiving end of one of their revenge pranks. I knew I was lucky so far from the broom mishap last week, just a couple of rude whispers; I didn't need to press my luck any more.

"I guess not," I sighed in defeat. The twins grinned eagerly.

"Great!" George exclaimed cheerily. "And anyway, right now, you're in more trouble than we are!"

"Now, if we could just borrow Mr. Stuffins . . ." Fred snatched him off my bed before I could even protest.

Fred nonchalantly tossed George the bear and gripped the stolen wand tightly while George said, "Take it away, Fred!" A look of sudden concentration crossed his face, and he bit his tongue in thought. He pointed the wand at Mr. Stuffins' head, and a split second later I realized what was happening.

"Stop!" I yelled at the same moment a stream of purple engulfed the bear, producing a thick cloud of smoke.

George mouthed something to Fred, who grinned. Then, as one, they turned towards me and bowed pompously.

"Here you go," George said happily, dropping the big ball of smoke back on my bed. A moment later, both twins were down the hallway, giggling as they ran.

I wrinkled my brow in horror. What had these two done to Mr. Stuffins? I was scared to find out, but eventually my curiosity won over. I waved my arms around to clear the smoke.

What was that saying—curiosity killed the kneazle? Well, once all the smoke was gone, I quickly found out why. A kind of fear and panic filled me that I had never felt before, and I screamed louder than the loudest banshee.

Instead of my beloved teddy bear, with his thin bare fur and the fluffy stuffing coming out of his side, one eye missing, there was the scariest monster I had ever seen. Eight hairy, slender legs supported a sleek black body, head popping forward with eight grotesque eyes and pincers I swore sparkled with venom. It was a spider, but ten times larger than any I had seen.

In less than a millisecond, I was out of my room and dashing down the hall. The image kept floating across my vision as I dashed downstairs, still shrieking in terror. I finally stopped, out of breath and sobbing, outside my parents' room. Without even bothering to knock, I burst into the room.

"Dad! Dad! Dad!" I cried, trying to make my father wake up. He rolled over and lifted his head, blinking furiously.

"Mmhm?" he mumbled, head already drooping back towards the pillow.

"Fred and George—Stuffins—beast—terrifying!" I muttered incoherently, eyes welling up with tears again.

"What?" Dad muttered, sitting up properly. He quickly snatched up his glasses, squinting wearily in my direction. Once he got a good look—frantic eyes and all—he became suddenly alert.

"What happened?" he asked as he snatched back towards his table, closing his hand firmly around thin air. It took my father a moment to realize this fact. He glanced over at his hand, confirming it was gripping nothing. He mumbled something under his breath that Mum probably would've jinxed him for if she had been home.

"FRED! GEORGE!"

As per usual with my brothers, no response was heard other than repressed giggling right outside the door. Dad threw back the covers and stomped out of the room, returning a second later with a twin in each hand.

"Now," my father started, glaring at each twin in turn, "you will give me back my wand and tell me what you did to your brother." Still chuckling insanely, Fred pulled the wand out of his pocket and dropped it at our father's feet. "Now, what did you do?"

Fred tried to answer, I think, but another wave of crazy laughter carried his voice away. Next, George tried. It took him a few moments to calm down enough to even say something. "Just a simple revenge prank, Dad."

Which wasn't exactly helpful.

"I said I was sorry!" I yelled at my brother, realizing finally what this was about. I thought I had been forgiven for setting their broom on fire, but I should've known with these two. I dabbed furiously at my wet cheeks with my sleeve, the shock finally wearing off.

"Next time don't do it," George choked through his grin. I wrinkled my nose at how unfair he was being. Did he seriously think I could've helped it?

After sending Fred and George a few last glares, my father finally let them go. "I'll deal with you two when your mother comes home!" he shouted after their retreating backs. "Now, Ron, can you show me what they did?"

I shook my head furiously. The image of the giant spider started obscuring my vision again, and the corners of my eyes stung just thinking about my former teddy bear.

Dad sighed. "It's in your room, whatever it is, right?" I nodded reluctantly, and my father took that as his cue to leave.

"Wait, Dad, don't leave me!" I whined, running up to him and clinging onto his pant leg as we headed back towards the beast.

My father paused when we reached my bedroom door. He smiled gently down on me, and carefully loosened my grip on his leg. I was about to warn him about what was in there—but too late. Before I had even opened my mouth, my overly brave and often thickheaded father pushed open the door and marched into the room. I dashed in there after him, scared to leave his side.

The giant spider was poised for attack, and decided it was a good time to jump as soon as I entered the room. I screamed in panic and utter terror, ducking behind my door for some kind of protection. Luckily, Dad kept his wits about him. He pulled out his wand and yelled something—Studify?—and blasted the spider directly in the face with a quick red flash. The monster dropped to the ground like a dead weight.

My dad turned his head around, looking straight into my terrified face. He cursed quietly under his breath and muttered, "Those two will pay for this . . ."

"Is the sp-sp-spider dead, Dad?"

A slight frown appeared between Dad's eyebrows. "No, Ron, it's just Stunned. But it's safe to come in here now." He took a step back and gestured me into my room, but I cowered behind him.

"I-I don't want to." Truthfully, I didn't ever want to go near a spider again.

"It's OK, Ron. Or—at least it will be soon. Fred and George will get a thorough punishment as soon as your mum is home."

At that precise moment, a slight clatter sounded from the sitting room, followed by Mum's voice. "Arthur, I'm ho- Fred! George! What on earth do you think you're doing behind that couch?"