LOUD SNEEZES CAN BE SEXY
(But snogging is much more fun)
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing (except for drastically-loud sneezing). so please don't sue me, because I'm terribly poor and I'm sure you have much better things to do with your time.
A/N: This is my first one-shot, so excuse the rambling (it's much easier to get away with rambling in longer stories). Just a little idea I had over dinner that I thought I'd type up now...so without further ado:
The only thing worse than sneezing is, well, not sneezing. I hate that feeling, when you really, really need to sneeze and you just can't. I'm one of those people with a really loud, scary sneeze, kind of like a fog horn. I've always wished I had a dainty little sneeze like Alicia's, but no, my sneeze is the butt of everyone's jokes. For instance, during my first year on the Gryffindor Quidditch team two years ago, I started sneezing from a combination of nerves and pollen:
"Fred, George, stop setting off those blasted fireworks!" our dear captain Wood bellowed at the Weasley twins.
"That's not us," Fred (or was it George?) smirked.
"Katie's practising for her part in the Titanic, as the Titanic," the other twin quipped.
Apparently that was some Muggle movie that their father was obsessed with, about a ship that crashes into an iceberg. I didn't find it remotely funny.
Anyway, the whole sneezing thing is actually quite relevant because at the present moment, I am sitting on my favourite armchair in the Gryffindor Common Room, at 10 o'clock at night, trying desperately to sneeze. I'm concentrating really hard, my eyes are shut, and I'm just about to sneeze when—
"Oi, Bell, what's the matter with you?"
I clench my teeth to stop myself from chucking a fit and open my eyes to find Oliver Wood, my dashingly handsome (did I just say that? Noo, you misheard me) Quidditch captain looking down at me strangely.
"Thanks a lot Wood, I was just about to sneeze," I growl at him.
"Oh, well in that case just wait until I'm tucked up safely in my dorm then, could you?" he asks with a broad grin on his face.
Dammit, if only he wasn't so irresistible when he grinned like that or I would give him a biff on the head with my rather heavy History of Magic book that's lying unopened on the floor beside me.
Instead I choose to ignore his immaturity and strike up conversation.
"I suppose you've come to talk to me about Quidditch practice, then?" I ask the obvious question. Quidditch is about the only thing Oliver and I have in common—he's a seventh year and I'm a fourth year. Although we've got the best team hands down, Gryffindor haven't won the Cup for seven years, and I know how much that kills Wood.
Funnily enough, he seems a little taken a back at first.
"Oh, right, yeah, Quidditch. Our next training is Thursday, I've got some new moves I'd like to try out. I'd like to finally win the Cup this year, so hopefully Potter won't feel the need to run around fighting dirty great serpents anytime soon."
I crack a grin at that one. Wood is almost militant about our training regime and it's been a sore blow for him to have been cheated out of the Cup for so long.
"It'll be my goodbye present for you," I blurt out, not entirely sure where that weird thought came from.
That weird thought earns me a weird look from Oliver before he's pulled away by Fred Weasley, who's muttering something about a detention, Mrs Norris and an exploding toilet.
That sneeze is still eluding me.
The strangest thing happened to me the other day at training. It was a pretty mediocre Saturday morning; the sun was hidden behind sloppy grey clouds and the wind was already having a tantrum so it was pretty hard trying to throw the Quaffle to a team mate let alone score a goal. Fred and George were, as usual, acting like total fools, and whacking Bludgers at each other across the pitch. Fred kind of misjudged his aim and sent a Bludger zooming straight towards me. Unfortunately for me, my back was turned, and it hit me square in the back. Hurt like a bitch too, I might add. I basically fell off my broom and would have knocked straight into the ground if a certain burly seventh-year blur hadn't dived to my rescue and swept me onto his broom. You should have seen the boy fuss over me like he was my mother or something, and when I told him that he just went red and mumbled something about not wanting any injuries this year. He didn't talk to Fred for the rest of the session, and insisted on taking me up to see Madam Pomfrey, even though I told him I was fine. Honestly, he acts like such a mother hen around me sometimes. I'm not that much of a baby to him am I?
Right now I'm daydreaming, which probably isn't a good idea as it's one of Wood's famous early-morning tactic speeches that most probably requires my attention. The problem is, listening to Wood when he speaks about Quidditch is basically impossible. For everyone else I know they just find it a terrible bore (which accounts for George dribbling all over Alicia's robes and Harry jabbing himself with his wand every five minutes) but I have a different problem. See, it's not my fault that I fancy Wood. Okay, there, I said it. I fancy my seventh-year Quidditch captain. I have for the past two years and there's absolutely nothing I can do about it. But when he speaks about Quidditch, I can't help but watch him rather than listen. The way his eyebrows scrunch up when he gets really passionate, the way his mouth draws into a scowl when he mentions another house team, the way his muscles tighten when he moves his arms in some weird attempt at describing a new play. It's stupid, but beyond my control. I find everything about Oliver Wood totally and utterly—
"Bell! For the last time, is something the matter?"
I jump and blink a few times; the rooms are empty apart from myself and Wood, who is now staring at me like I've grown an extra nose.
I surreptitiously feel my face on the pretence of rubbing my eyes. Nope, no extra nose.
Oliver is now crouching in front of me. I feel like I should say something. Wow, his eyes are actually the most wonderful eyes I have ever seen…
"Katie, are you feeling alright?"
I squeeze my eyes shut and open them again, but Wood's breath, so close to my face, has tickled my nose and I feel that sneeze finally coming.
"Move…out…of the way," I manage as the sneeze builds up.
"What? What's the matter?" he is such a fool, but a very good-looking fool.
"Move!" I push him aside just as the sneeze erupts.
"AHH-CHHOOOO!"
Whoa, that was big, even by my standards.
When I recover, I open my eyes, expecting to see plaster falling from the ceiling and the windows shattered. Instead Wood is apparently having a fit whilst clutching the bench beside me. I'm a little miffed when I he looks up at me and I realise he's laughing.
"What's so funny?" I pout, feigning anger. It's hard to be really angry because he looks so cute when he laughs.
"Whoever – thought someone – so – small, could make such – a loud—" the stupid boy is overcome with laughter so I kick him lightly in the leg. Well, I thought it was lightly.
Now he's rolling on the floor, clutching his leg in agony. He's not laughing anymore. Perhaps he's just fooling around…
Oh god, I've just seriously injured our Keeper!
He reiterates my thoughts by choosing to scream out that I've "ruined his blossoming career" and he'll "never be able to climb onto a broom again", so I rush to his side in panic.
"Let me see, it can't be that bad!" I plead frantically.
Wood takes one look at my face and bursts out laughing again.
"I KNEW IT! I KNEW YOU WERE FULL OF IT! OH YOU JUST WAIT, YOU LITTLE—" I pummel quite uselessly against his well-muscled chest for a while before he pins me to the floor with one arm.
I scrunch up my nose in distaste.
"You planned all this just so you could get me on the floor underneath you, didn't you?" I ask.
Wood just grins. "Nah, I wouldn't want to snog a girl whose sneezes sound like a stampede of trolls."
Oh, he thinks he's so funny. But then why is his face so close to mine that I can see every one of his thick eyelashes?
"Yeah?" I reply. "Well, I wouldn't want to snog a guy who takes his broomstick to bed every night."
I was kind of making that up, and it was pretty feeble, but you try thinking when your gorgeous captain is basically lying on top of you.
"Oh really?" he asks mischievously. His eyes really are, perfect…
When we finally surface for breath we're both grinning like idiots.
"As long as the broomstick keeps to her side of the bed," I warn.
"Screw the broomstick," he murmurs into my hair, "you're much better to snog."
And who said loud sneezes weren't sexy?
Reviews are much appreciated! Hope you enjoyed :)