Harry Potter Short Stories

A boy and his Spider

"I've got nothing to do with this, Aunt Petunia, I swear! I really have no idea what happened with Miss Stein's hair!" Harry pleaded. Only the first day back after the autumn holiday, and he was already in trouble. His last year in primary could not finish soon enough.

It was true that he did not like his teacher; she shared a permanently constipated look and Little Whinging Bridge Club membership with Aunt Petunia and believed every nasty word his aunt said about him. But did they really think he could turn her hair blue? Miss Stein had been ranting about his own messy hair and dirty clothes when it happened, and that was enough to blame it on him. His clothes were not even dirty; he had washed them himself the day before and avoided all the beans Dudley had thrown at him at breakfast. But they were all his cousin's cast-offs, old and twice his size. There was only so much he could do.

"Of course, it's your fault, you little freak!" Aunt Petunia shrieked, bodily pushing Harry into his cupboard. "Don't expect to come out of here until Monday!"

Once the door slammed shut behind him, Harry slumped on his cot, gingerly rubbing the shoulder his aunt had been gripping. His stomach grumbled, but he knew he could forget about food for the day. Probably for tomorrow as well. He was fairly sure Aunt Petunia would let him out by then—not out of any kindness but to do the long list of chores she planned for the weekends—but anytime something weird happened around Harry, she was especially vicious. He hoped she would at least let him go to the bathroom.

A black ball came down from the ceiling, stopping inches in front of his face. Startled, Harry squinted in the dim light and yelped, scrambling back against the wall. He was used to spiders in his cupboard and wasn't usually bothered by the little guys. Here on the string of silk, however, hung the biggest spider Harry had ever seen. With its long legs gathered up, it was the size of a tennis ball, and its body was covered in thick black fur.

"Are you crying there, freak? Crying like a little girl?" Dudley shouted gleefully from the stairs over Harry's head, punctuating his words with heavy thumps. Harry wondered if one day the stairs would collapse under one jump too many. It would be a shame to survive a car crash as a baby only to be crushed to death by your elephant-sized cousin.

The impact made the thin string snap, and the spider fell right onto Harry's lap. Slowly, carefully, Harry raised his hand to his mouth and bit the back of his palm. He had listened to a program on deadly Australian spiders from his cupboard once when Uncle Vernon fell asleep in front of the TV. Maybe it was one of them. On the other hand, it could hardly be deadlier than catching Aunt Petunia's attention right now.

"How rude," the spider squeaked.

Harry stared at it. Apparently, on top of everything, he was going crazy.

"Reminds me of my older brother," the spider continued in a high-pitched voice. "The size of a hare already, and just as harebrained."

"What are you blabbering there?" Aunt Petunia shouted from the kitchen. "Be quiet, boy!"

"Please speak quieter," Harry whispered. If it was a figment of his imagination, Aunt Petunia could hear it too. And she did not approve of his imagination in the slightest.

"Your aunt is a right snake," the spider said, thankfully lowering its voice.

Despite his fear, Harry giggled. Nobody ever said anything bad about Aunt Petunia, and hearing a different opinion for once was incredibly gratifying, even if it came from a talking spider.

"How come you can speak?" he asked.

"Why wouldn't I?" The spider's face was, by its nature, not very expressive, but Harry was sure it looked at him as if he was stupid. "Although if you only ever met those embarrassments there" —it gestured to the corner of the cupboard where a daddy-longlegs usually resided— "I don't blame you for being surprised."