A/N: This story was written for The Houses Competition forum.

House: Gryffindor

Year: 3

Category: Short story

Prompt: 8. [Emotion] Anticipation

Word count: 1991 words (according to Google docs and wordcounterdotnet)

This story was also written for my final (and probably shortest yet) entry to the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition.

Team: Penzance Pegai

Position: Chaser 1

Prompt: Write about Fred Weasley.

Optional prompts: radio, forgetful, shadow

This story is based on canon in which Fred turned Ron's teddy bear into a spider for breaking his toy broom. Although it isn't explained further, it was a case of accidental magic, presumably from the rage Fred felt. The rest is left to the reader's imagination what happened, and this is my take on it. I also had a little difficulty trying to find the difference between 'his mother' and 'their mother', but apparently both can be used as long as it is consistent with the POV (that is, is can be singular until other characters are introduced to the scene). However, if someone can shed more light on this, please do so I can use it for future stories :)

A huge thank you to my lovely betas, CK (Theoretical-Optimist) and Krissy (Firediva0), Tsu (kurotsuba) and Miranda (BetterYouThanMe) for helping, and to everyone for reading!

Itsy-Bitsy Spiders

"Chew with your mouth closed please, Ron—no, not in my ear, thank you. Fred, please stop playing with your food."

Fred scowled at his mother as she went back to feeding Ginny. Didn't she realise that he had far more important things to do than eat? Stirring around his porridge, his mind wandered over the plans for the day.

He and George were finally going to play Quidditch. With Bill's help, they were going to test how high their toy brooms could hover. Without Bill's help, they were also going to use some sticks to pretend they were swinging Beater's Bats.

His fingertips tingled with excitement as he imagined batting Bludgers—or rather, the bundled socks they borrowed from the washing basket—to his brother. His foot tapped on the kitchen floor, ready to start the run across the grounds to launch his broom. When he was really old, maybe at twenty-five, he might even play professionally.

"Ugh, Fred! No, George! Oh, out with the pair of you!" their mother said, wiping a lump of porridge from her cheek.

Fred's cheeks burned and he quickly dropped his spoon. He had gotten a little too carried away with the thought of playing Beater. Before their mother could change her mind, he grabbed the bath towel hanging on the back of his chair and raced George outside.

"Got your Quidditch robes?" George asked.

Fred nodded, tying the towel around his neck like George had. They weren't proper Quidditch robes, but he was sure the green made them look exactly like the Kenmare Kestrel's players. His heart thudded as they drew closer to the shed, and he tugged his Quidditch gloves—or rather, their mother's rubber washing-up gloves—up over his elbows. He was ready.

Bill was standing by the shed, yawning widely. When he saw them approaching, he took out a key and fiddled with the door's lock.

"C'mon… c'mon..." Fred said, dancing from foot to foot.

Bill rolled his eyes and pulled the lock off. Both he and George pushed past their oldest brother, eyes focused on the back wall where the brooms were kept.

"Hold on, Fred. I need to tell you—"

Fred stopped in his tracks, his mouth popping open. He shook his head back and forth, staring at the place where his toy broom was supposed to be. Instead, several splinters of wood were scattered on the floor.

"What…"

"I'm sorry, I meant to tell you. It was an accident," Bill said. "Ron wanted to have a try and, well… maybe he was a bit young. I did try to fix it—"

Wiping away the tear that rolled down his cheek, Fred turned and stormed out of the shed. He could hear George trudging behind him, but he didn't stop until he was back in the house.

Their mother was still in the kitchen feeding Ginny. He paused at the door, his chest heaving up and down, ready to dob on his brothers. The radio was now blaring, however, and she was humming away to her favourite tune. He continued on into the living room instead, George close behind him.

"Freddie?"

Fred paced back and forth in the living room, his fists balled at his sides. How could they do that? They hadn't even asked him if they could borrow his broom.

"Bill is such a—a—" Pausing to hear if his mother was still singing, he said, "A butthead!"

"We could fill his bed with slugs," George said.

Fred licked his lips, tempted to go along with it, but then shook his head. "No, Bill's not scared of slugs."

He resumed pacing, gritting his teeth. Ron chose that moment to toddle into the room, a teddy bear in his hands.

Fred narrowed his eyes at the boy as he sat in the corner and moved his bear around. He didn't look up at the twins, oblivious to the hurt he had caused.

His nostrils flared, and he took a step towards Ron. Fred's brown eyes were focused on the stupid teddy bear, and he started shaking. How would Ron like to have something he loved destroyed?

"What—"

"Ahhhhhhhhh!"

Fred blinked as he watched Ron leap away from his bear—or rather, what was supposed to be a bear. Its brown fur had turned black, and its four tatty paws were now eight long legs.

He smirked at George as Ron backed away from the giant spider that had replaced his beloved bear. The boy's wails cut across the music from the kitchen radio, and soon their mother's chair scraped back.

In another second, the spider transformed back into a bear, and Fred and George bolted from the room, giggling.

"George! Fred! Bath time!"

Fred groaned as their mother's voice carried across the lawn. They had just been getting into the game, and he didn't really need a bath.

Sighing, he followed George to the house, dumping Charlie's old toy broom by the back door. It wasn't as fast as his old broom, nor did it go as high, but at least Charlie had taken care of it.

When he walked past the bathroom on the way to his and George's room, he saw his mother struggling to get Ron into the bathtub. The three-year-old's eyes were wide, and he was pushing her away. Fred glared at him and shook his head. His little brother just had to make things difficult for everyone, didn't he?

"Did you see that turn I did?" George said, grinning from ear to ear as he got undressed in their bedroom.

Fred took off his mud-stained shirt. "It was wick—"

"Ahhhhhhhhh!"

He dropped his shirt and ran into the bathroom, George on his tail. Peaking into the bathroom again, he saw their mother still struggling with Ron, who was now screaming. The boy was pointing to a corner of the ceiling where a tiny spider was building its web.

"Honestly, Ron, I don't know what's gotten into you lately. It's just a bath; you love baths," their mother said, trying to coax Ron into the tub.

George turned to him and smirked. Fred smiled back, knowing full well that it wasn't a tub full of water that had their brother clawing at their mother's sleeves.

His stomach did a funny flip, however, and he turned back to their mother.

"Arthur! I need your help!" she called.

George nudged him in the forearm, and when Fred looked at him, he nodded towards their room.

"Let's go play," he whispered.

Fred nodded. As they headed back down the staircase, however, Ron's frantic blubbering followed them, and his stomach continued to flip around.

"Mummy! MUMMY!"

Fred listened to his mother's footsteps creep past his bedroom, a slither of light spilling underneath the door. It wasn't long before he heard Ron and Ginny's bedroom door creak open, and the squeak of the boy's bed as she sat down.

Her words were slightly muffled, but he knew the gist of what she was saying. It had been the same thing every night that week: Ron would have a nightmare, and their mother would come to his aid. She would sit by his bed, trying to convince him there were no monsters underneath it. She would then wait until his sobs died down, only to have to get up and do it all over again later that same night.

"Shh, dear, you'll wake Ginny. Here, take Rupert." Their mother's voice had grown louder. She was trying to comfort Ron with his teddy bear, but it only served to make him cry harder.

"No, no, no," Ron repeated, his voice breaking through the thin walls.

It wasn't long before the bedroom door creaked open. Fred could hear their mother sigh as she walked past his door.

He closed his eyes. His stomach was in knots, however, and as he listened to Ron's continued whimpering, he found it hard to fall asleep.

"Mummy!"

Fred listened for his mother, but this time, no footsteps came. He closed his eyes, trying to go back to sleep. Like his mother, he hadn't gotten a single wink of sleep that week. Ron's cries were beginning to make him too tired to play, let alone very forgetful; that morning, he had put his shirt on inside out. Even when Ron wasn't crying out, Fred stayed awake, anticipating his screams.

"Mummy!"

With a sigh, he opened his eyes and threw back his blankets. Hopping out of bed, he looked across the room. George was snoring peacefully, his thumb in his mouth.

Fred considered waking him up, but shook his head and tiptoed out of the room. For once, this was something only he could fix.

Tiptoeing across the hallway, he pushed his brother's bedroom door open. Pale moonlight flooded the room, allowing him to see that Ginny, thankfully, was also still asleep in her cot.

He took a deep breath as he walked over to Ron's bed. He was sure that the boy would start yelling for him to get out. He wouldn't have blamed him, really.

Ron didn't look up as he sat on the edge of his bed. He was rocking back and forth, tears running down his cheeks.

"Hey, it's ok," he said, putting an arm around his little brother.

Ron finally looked up, blinking back tears. Snot hung from the tip of his nose, and his words were cut out by a few hiccoughs. "S-spiders—hic—everywhere!"

"Shh, there are no spiders here, silly," Fred said, looking around the room.

Ron sniffled and followed his gaze. His breathing seemed to calm a bit, and Fred let out a sigh of relief.

"Th-there! There's one there!" Ron jumped, pointing a trembling finger toward the floor.

Fred looked at the floor where something round with many legs seemed to be moving. Getting off the bed, he bent down to take a closer look.

"Careful!" Ron said.

Fred grinned, turning back to the bed. Feeling along the quilt whilst still keeping an eye on the floor, he picked up a piece of lint. He held it up for Ron to inspect, but the boy backed away.

"It's just a bit of fluff, see?" Fred waved around the lint, watching as its elongated shadow danced across the floor, much like a spider's movements.

Ron finally looked up, nodding slowly as the tears slid down his face. "Oh."

Fred placed his arm around the boy's heaving shoulders again and rubbed his back. "Look, close your eyes, and if the spiders come back, just think of them… er…" Fred wracked his brain for something that would help make the spiders seem less scary. "Think of them wearing roll-skaters."

"Roll-skaters?"

"Yeah, those shoes Muggles wear that have wheels."

Ron nodded and closed his eyes. Fred pushed him back against the pillow, pulling his blankets up for him. He waited until the boy's chest started moving up and down slowly before he got off the bed and quietly left the room.

George was still asleep when Fred climbed back into his own bed and yawned. Stretching his arms, he got comfortable, anticipating finally getting a good night's sleep.

He started to drift off—until the familiar cry came back.

"Freddie!"

Sighing, Fred got up and headed back to Ron's room.

He padded over to Ron, who was trembling in his bed. "Oi, you forgetful bugger, don't you remember what I told you?"

Ron sniffled and moved over so that Fred could sit down. He leaned his head against him, a small, embarrassed smile on his face.

"The s-spider knew how t-to sk-skate," Ron said.

Fred grinned. "Well, we'll just have to fix that, won't we?"

With an arm wrapped around his brother, Fred snuggled into the bed. He sifted through his mind for more funny stories about spiders that he hoped would distract his brother.

It was his fault that Ron was having nightmares, so he'd spend as many nights as it took to make sure his brother wasn't afraid anymore.