Jump to content
Sneeze Fetish Forum

Something's Wrong (HP Harry-centric)

The Kneezle

Recommended Posts

A/N: Hey everybody! So... I'm new here. I found the site over the summer, slowly browsed my way through 30 pages of stories, wrote a little of my own very top-secret sneeze fiction for indulgence sake, and finally decided to post. I've been writing fanfiction for more than two years and have been writing my own original stuff for longer than that, but this is something else... I write pretty exclusively Harry Potter and that's my favorite to read (if you know any other good Harry centric sneezefics, you know, maybe you could pass them on?) I've got some original stuff too, but I don't think I'll ever post that. Anyway, so that's me. I'm under the belief that there can never be enough Harry Potter sneeve fics, so that's why I'm adding this. Hope you all enjoy. It takes place a cuoople months after the final battle. And I'm most definitely not JKR.

The storm swept in out of nowhere, heavy black clouds rolling in on the head of a swift and fierce wind that howled around the Burrow’s precarious six stories and bent the trees surrounding the paddock. Mrs. Weasley, kneeling up to her elbows in cans, potion vials, and apothecary pouches in the middle of the pantry, hadn’t noticed the absence of the somewhat-less-than-scorching July sun until a clap of thunder rattled the entire house and drew a startled yelp from her lips. Automatically, she jumped to her feet, sending cans crashing into vials, her wand already in her hand.

But of course the kitchen was empty. There was no intruder, no threat but the rain that had begun to pour out of the clouds, hammering so furiously on the tin roof that she could hear it even with five floors of bedrooms between her and the roof. Feeling foolish – but only a little, given the state of things two and half months before – she pocketed her wand and picked her way out of the mess of potions and canned goods to have a peak at the impressive storm brewing around her. Glad that she wouldn’t have to leave the house today and even gladder that she no longer had to worry that her youngest son and his friends might be huddled in a tent in the middle of this, or what her husband or sons might not see or hear as they tried to make their way home to her through the storm, Mrs. Weasley drew the curtain and turned back to the mess she’d made of her pantry.

She’d just managed to mop up the last of the potions, which had begun to hiss and turn color as they pooled into each other, and was examining the burn mark they’d left on the pantry floor with a calculating eye, wand pointing threateningly at it, when the back door banged open. She jumped about a mile, whipping around yet again. But this time the kitchen wasn’t empty. Harry stood in the doorway, dripping as if he’d taken a swim in the river, clothes and all, teeth chattering as he clumsily tried to latch the door against the gale.

“Good lord, dear, you nearly gave me a heart attack,” Mrs. Weasley told him, a small laugh of relief coloring her words as she hurried to help him close the door.

“S-s-s-sorry,” he stammered.

“What on earth were you doing outside?” she demanded, taking him by the shoulder and sending a wave of heat over him that made his waterlogged clothes steam themselves dry.

“Th-thanks. F-f-fell as-sleep in the orch-chard.”

“I’d nearly forgotten you’d stayed behind,” Mrs. Weasley said, leading him across the kitchen and forcing him down on a chair by the stove. “Sit tight and get warm, and I’ll get some tea on. You look freezing.”

“Where’d everyone else go?” Harry asked confusedly, glancing at the unusually empty kitchen table, listening to the strangely quiet house.

Mrs. Weasley gave him a curious look. “Well, Arthur and Percy are at work, of course. Hermione went to stay a few nights in London to do some research on where her parents might have settled in Australia, and Ron decided to go with her, keep her company and help out. But of course they talked about it with you last night,” she added as if Harry ought to know these details. He only looked blank. “And of course Ginny and Charlie took George to Shell Cottage for a bit… a bit of a break,” she said the last part with difficulty and Harry looked down at his knees. “But they said goodbye to you this morning,” she tacked on, looking once more at him. “Don’t you remember?”

“Er, oh, yeah, I s’pose,” he mumbled at his knees.

Mrs. Weasley scrutinized him, recalling the vacant expression he had adopted so frequently these last two months. She ran a hand through his damp hair and let a comforting silence fall between them. Harry pulled one knee up to his chin and rested his cheek against it, but almost at once he twisted so quickly in his chair that he nearly toppled out of it.


“Bless you!” Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, startled.

He sniffed and mumbled his thanks, rubbing a knuckle under his nose. A moment later he jerked forward, catching another sneeze in his cupped hands. “HEH-Kitchegh!”

“Goodness, bless –” but she didn’t even have time to finish he sentiment before he pitched forward again. “Hatchoo! Ichoo-chegh!”

“Finished?” she asked, slightly amusedly.

Harry just shook his head, eyes still screwed up. For a moment he sat perfectly still, face hovering over the crook of his elbow. Mrs. Weasley grabbed a couple of mugs and poured the boiling water into them. As she added the teabags, she heard his breath begin to catch.


She turned to watch his head bob gently in anticipation.

“Hatchchu! Ackchoo!” It finally came in two fast, breathy jerks, forceful enough to rock his whole body. Slowly, he pulled his face out of his elbow, peaking up at her sheepishly through his messy fringe.

“Bless you,” she said, trying not to laugh. “Now come here and get something warm inside of you.” And she ushered him over to the table and his steaming tea. “That was quite the fit,” she remarked as she sat down opposite him.

Harry shrugged, blowing ripples into his drink. “I always sneeze seven times,” he mumbled. “Ever since I was little.” He shrugged again.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you sneeze before,” she said, realizing it for the first time.

Harry stirred his tea with a spoon, making no response.

“Bill’s like that, too,” Mrs. Weasley went on. “Four’s his lucky number. Every time, without fail, it’s four. I remember he once sat five whole minutes waiting, and sure enough, a fourth one came. Charlie just doesn’t stop. Every few minutes we’ll hear him when he gets going. The boys had a kneezle kitten once – never again, I swear. Their fur gets everywhere. Charlie was about five, I think, and I had to take him outside in the middle of January because it was so bad he could barely take a breath in between.”

But she didn’t think Harry was listening to her anymore. He huddled the mug in his clammy hands, putting his face into the steam and staring vaguely into the dark, sloshing liquid. He sniffled softly, and she noticed that he was still shivering. Actually, now that she looked at him properly – something Mrs. Weasley realized she hadn’t been able to do in weeks because he never stayed in a room long enough – he was a bit of a mess. Harry had always been a skinny kid, but he looked pinched, almost hollow now. There were dark bags under his eyes and he was much too pale for the middle of July.

“Are you alright, dear?” she asked softly.

He didn’t look up until she laid a hand on his elbow, and then he blinked confusedly, as if he hadn’t heard her.

“You don’t look well,” she said anxiously, making to feel his cheek with her palm.

But at that moment, Harry sucked in a quick breath and squirmed away from her, pressing his face into his elbow because his hands were full with the tea.

“H’xxt! N’xxt-n’xt!”

Mrs. Weasley hastily slipped the mug out of his hands as tea sloshed over the rim. He turned the rest of his body away from her, pinching his nose hard as he sneezed four more times in quick succession. He sniffled miserably, eyes streaming, and got up hastily to retrieve some toilet paper, throwing a rushed apology over his shoulder as he hurried out of the room.

Of course, she followed him. She found him washing his hands upstairs, coughing into his shoulder.

“Sweetheart,” she said gently, turning him a little so she could get a clear look at his too-pale face.

“’M fine,” he mumbled, looking over her head.

And that was when Mrs. Weasley really realized there was something more wrong here than a stuffy nose and a scratchy throat. That vacant look, it had never been a part of Harry before. He never used to mumble everything, to writhe away from her solicitousness, to be impossible to reach for longer than a few minutes.

The last two and a half months had been the worst of her life. They had been the worst of so many people’s lives. She had noticed, of course, that Harry barely spoke, that he flitted through rooms as if afraid of getting caught by somebody, that he didn’t eat enough. But half of them didn’t eat enough. No one spoke very much. George didn’t come out of his room for days on end. Percy had, at one point, nearly destroyed the garden with a furious, blind, bitter rage. People were not themselves.

But this was something else. This was not dissipating with time. This was not a moment of grief. This was an entirely new person standing before her, someone who had taken the place of the boy who used to laugh with her son until neither one of them could sit up-right, who had, without a word, helped her clear the dishes from the table with a shy grin, who had declared with such fire in his eyes that he wanted to fight. Something had taken that boy and left this one in his place and suddenly she wanted to burst into tears, to grab him and shake him until that other boy fell out. But he was already past her, already up the stairs, already behind another closed door.

A/N: so that's part one. I'd really love some feedback, you know, being new at the whole sneezefic thing. Suggestions? I'll continue this if people are interested, but it might be a while because I've got loads of other writing comitments at the moment.

Link to comment

Oh, goodness. This is gorgeous and touching and everything that is right in a story. :)

Continue, please?

Link to comment

Oh yes, please continue! There aren't enough post-Voldemort fics featuring Harry and this is really touching. ; ___ ; Update soon!

Link to comment

Oh my goodness this is perfect!!! Truly beautiful and I LOVE the way you've written the characters, and painted a picture of their emotions. Lovely writing. I'm very much looking forward to reading the next part!

Link to comment

I really like this! Like Emily said, I haven't read many post-Voldemort stories with Harry either (then again, I probably haven't looked that hard :laugh: ), but you wrote this quite nicely. My favorite thing so far is that Harry always sneezes seven times, and all I could think of was that seven is the most magically powerful number, and then my imagination was like "So what happens with...magically powerful sneezes?" Anyway, I really love that you've included Mrs. Weasley, too. She's such an awesome mother figure to Harry, so it only fits. xD Anyway, looking forward to another update!

Link to comment

I never particularly like HP fanfic (I like the original characters in their original context as they are)! But somehow I clicked on this story and didn't regret reading it :) In fact, looking forward to MORE! :D

Link to comment

This is such a touching story! I am a huge harry potter fan, and so reading this surely made my day. Not only my day, but it also made my week. Every time I go o\n the computer now I think of this story. If you don't want to continue, at least tell me so i don't keep checking. This is amazing, brilliant, fabulous, extraordinary. It is not just random sneezing that could of come from anyone like some harry potter stories, this has meaning.

Link to comment
  • 2 weeks later...

A/N: Wow, thank you guys so much for the awesome replies! I should have been working on something else, but since you all wanted more,I put it off and wrote this. I dunno about it. Hope you like it. I'll do one more after this, but probably not for a while. So much other stuff needs writing!

Mrs. Weasley couldn’t sleep. Arthur, who had come home very late with Percy after several long trials in which he’d had to provide expertise on both Muggle and Wizard artifacts, slept soundly beside her. But Mrs. Weasley couldn’t settle. Harry hadn’t come out of the bedroom the rest of the day, and each time she’d gone up to check on him, he’d been asleep – or pretending to be. She left soup and tea, but it didn’t seem to be touched, and she’d gone to Diagon Alley for Pepper up, but the harassed apothecary manager had told her she could brew her own, thank you very much. That would take two weeks. It wasn’t the remedy Harry really needed anyway, but it was just the only one she knew how to provide.

Sighing,, Mrs. Weasley sat up and swung her feet to the floor, giving up on the idea of sleep. She was worried, and she’d wanted to talk to Arthur about it, but he’d been so exhausted she hadn’t gotten a chance to broche the subject. She pulled on her dressing gown and crept out of the bedroom, pausing out on the landing to listen to the house. It was a habit when she couldn’t sleep, and more often than not she would hear whatever was amiss and keeping her up. A radio still playing to stave off heartache, a child groaning in feverish sleep, sobs muffled into pillows, there was always something. But tonight all she heard was the rain.

Mrs. Weasley frowned, unable to shake the feeling that she was needed somewhere. She glanced up the stairs toward Ron’s room. There was a faint glow of lamplight under the door. If it were Ron, she would not have hesitated to go up and look in on him. She knew how to handle her children, but Harry, as much as she felt otherwise, was not hers. And he was not like hers. She hadn’t raised him, hadn’t soothed his nightmares or dried his tears. She didn’t know if pressing him would help her keep a hold on him, or if it would push him over an edge. But there was that feeling in the pit of stomach that after seven children, she could not ignore.

She climbed the stairs and knocked softly on the door. There was no answer. Hesitantly, she pushed it open anyway. Harry was propped up on an elbow, tangled in his sheets and in the midst of a violent and completely silent fit of some sort. He had his face buried in the crook of his arm. His whole body shook and he jerked forward sporadically.

On a hunch, Mrs. Weasley pulled out her wand and muttered, “Finite.” At once, low, harsh coughing filled the room.

“Hept-choo!” Harry sneezed, jerking forward again and coughing even harder.

Alarmed, Mrs. Weasley sat on the edge of the mattress and reached out to rub his back, taking some of his weight onto her shoulder.

“So-rr-y” Harry choked between coughs, trying to gather some of the crumpled tissues into the dust bin.

“Here,” Mrs. Weasely said quickly, waving her wand and taking care of the mess herself. She reached for a clean tissue and put it in his hands as he twisted away from her in another volley of sneezes. “Good lord, dear, are you going to be alright?”

Harry nodded, struggling to get control of his breath again. “Yeah… I’m… Hichch! I’m fine.”

The moment the fit subsided, he pulled away, turning so she couldn’t see his face.

“You know, I’ve looked after two little brothers, five children I’ve nannied for, fifteen nephews, and most of the first-years the three years I was a prefect, not to mention seven of my own children,” she told him. “I know pretty well what illness looks like and I’ve long-since stopped being phased by it. Having five children with dragon pox all at once makes anything else just look like the hiccups.”

Harry didn’t look at her, didn’t answer. Mrs. Weasley reached out to lay a hand on his cheek.

“You’re awfully hot,” she murmured anxiously.

It was like he’d pulled all the blinds and locked the door. She could feel him still in there, but doubted whether she could get him out. Something had to be done, but she didn’t know what.

“Harry? Harry, look at me. Dear, you’re shivering in two jumpers and a heap of quilts. Why don’t we go downstairs by the fire and I’ll see just what I can do for you.”

It took some coaxing but she got him out of bed. Harry swayed on his feet and she quickly pulled one of his arms around her shoulders. He was not very much taller than she was, really. They had barely made it to the door when Harry stopped.

“Oh God, not again,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. He quickly pinched his flaring nostrils, breathing hard. He blinked furiously, willing the feeling to go away, but evidently it didn’t.

“Huh…hih-n’xxt!” his head bobbed and he sniffled, rubbing at his pink nose.

“Bless you,” Mrs. Weasley murmured.

He wiped a streaming eye and shuffled unsteadily onto the landing before pausing again to catch a sneeze in the back of his hand. This was how they made their way down the stairs; on every landing Harry froze and turned away, sneezing congestedly into his shoulder or knuckles until finally they had made it to the sitting room. Mrs. Weasley had counted six, and as she settled him on the sofa and stoked the fire, waited for the seventh. He sniffled and rubbed furiously, but it didn’t come.

Mrs. Weasely went into the kitchen and came back with a mug of steaming cinnamon tea. She put it on the coffee table and pulled the thick afghan she’d spent the last year in hiding knitting around Harry’s thin shoulders. Then she sat beside him and put a hand on his knee.

“No, none of that,” she said sternly when he looked away. “Harry James Potter, I know it’s the last thing you seem to want to do, but I’m sitting up the night with you, so you’re going to talk to me, alright?”

Harry stared down at his fingers, twisting them in the blanket.

“Alright?” she repeated, shaking his shoulder a little.

Suddenly, Harry pitched forward with the last, forceful Kchch!. “Ow,” he groaned, rubbing his chest and sniffing wetly. “Alright,” he said in a painfully stuffy voice, coughing roughly into his cupped hands.

“You sound dreadful. You haven’t just come down with this today, have you?” Mrs. Weasley asked more gently.

Slowly, Harry shook his head.

“How long have you had it?”

He shrugged.

“Harry,” she said, stern again.

“I dunno. A while, though. Ever since that memorial thing. Just won’t go away.”

Mrs. Weasely counted back. “Dear, that was a month ago! Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling well? I’d’ve had Pepper-up in you two weeks ago!”

Harry shrugged again, drawing the blanket more tightly around himself with a hard shiver. “Wasn’t so bad until the rain today. I think that made – made it worse.”

His voice became breathy and he raised his hands to his face in preparation, but nothing happened.

“Thank god,” he sighed, scrubbing at his nose with one hand and messaging his forehead with the other. “I’ve been sneezing my head off all day.”

Mrs. Weasely rubbed his shoulders in sympathy. “I don’t know if you want that tea, then. It takes care of congestion like nothing else, but it’ll make you sneeze like mad first.”

Harry groaned into his hands. When he dropped them back to his lap, Mrs. Weasley got a good look at his face. He looked beyond exhausted. The dark circles under his eyes were deepening.

“You haven’t been sleeping well,” she stated.

The reaction was instant: he withdrew into himself as if she’d tripped a wire, slamming the shutters closed with alarming efficiency. Mrs. Weasley felt like she was trying to grab smoke. Every time she had it in her grasp, he slipped away.

“Harry.” She knelt in front of him, taking his cold hands between her warm ones. “Please, just talk to me. It will help, I promise it will. You can’t keep doing this…. Harry!” she moved her hands to either side of his face, forcing him to meet her gaze. “We need you here, do you understand? We need you here.”

He didn’t say anything, but he held her gaze until she let him go. There was still something there behind those green eyes of his.

Harry pulled the blanket up over his mouth as he started coughing again, and Mrs. Weasely was reminded that there were other things she needed to tend to. She piled pillows against the armrest of the sofa and helped him lay back against them once he’d finished coughing, tucking the blanket and another quilt around him and laying a cool cloth against his brow.

“Did you know your immune system is synched up to your emotions? If you go through a rough patch mentally, you usually get wrung out physically, too,” she told him, not sure if he was listening but wanting him to at least be able to hear her. “It’s rotten, but it hardly ever fails. I remember when the kids were little, we had a dog named patches. Bill and Charlie found it out in the fields and we had it for a couple years before it passed away. They were all just heartsick, but Percy took it the hardest. Every night he was crying, and then pretty soon he had just a terrible cold that wouldn’t go away. It’s not fair, but when you feel rotten, you feel rotten.”

“But that’s why you’ve got to take care of yourself,” she went on, rubbing his arms vigorously to stop the shivering. “You’ve got to start eating and sleeping properly, getting out and about, or resting when you’re under the weather.”

Harry’s eyes had drifted closed. Mrs. Weasley sighed and pulled an armchair over beside the sofa. At least he was getting some rest.

Mrs. Weasley didn’t get any. It had been a long time since she’d sat up taking care of a sick child. Harry may have been nearly eighteen, but it was the same gig. She wiped his face with a cold cloth, working to bring down his temperature, helped him sit up when he woke himself up from coughing, rubbing his back and his chest, hummed old melodies to assure him she was still there, and spent long stretches of time gazing into the fire, drifting in what could not actually be called sleep.

Around three in the morning, Mrs. Weasley was drawn out of one of these stupors by muffled moaning. She slid off the chair and perched on the edge of the sofa, shaking Harry gently.

“Dear? What’s the matter?”

Harry rolled over, clutching his head and wincing. ‘Hurts,” he mumbled thickly and started to cough again.

Mrs. Weasley sat him up, bracing his shoulders as his whole body rocked from the effort. She plucked another tissue and put it in his hand.

“Pressure headache,” she explained. “I think you’ve got a sinus infection. Try blowing.”

He tried but ended in a whimper of pain, touching his face gingerly.

“Alright, we’re going to have to do it the other way then,” she sighed, wrapping an arm around him and reaching for the untouched mug of tea. She tapped it with her wand and felt the liquid warm through the china. “Go on, drink up.”

Harry tried to push the tea away. “Don’t wanna sneeze.”

It was the closest thing to a whine she’d ever heard come out of his mouth. He must be feeling awfully wretched.

“I know, but sometimes you’ve just got to get it over with so you can feel better,” she coaxed.

Harry shook his head, drawing up his knees and wriggling away from her. Well there was one way he was just like her sons: he was just like a six-year-old when he was sick.

“Harry,” she said sternly. “You aren’t going to be able to sleep with that headache, and if you don’t sleep, you’ll have a hard time getting better. Come on, now, drink up.”

Very reluctantly, Harry uncurled himself and reached for the mug. He gave her a dubious look before taking a cautious sip. Results were not instantaneous. Mrs. Weasely brought over the box of tissues as he steadily made his way to the bottom of the mug, sniffling now and again. By the time he’d finished, his eyes were watering.

“What’s in that?” he croaked.

“A lot of cinnamon and a little crushed pepper,” she revealed, suppressing a smile. “Old family recipe.”

“Hih..hih-eh,” his breath caught. “I thi..think it work – Hatchch! Ichoo! Ichgh!”

He doubled over, muffling the last four sneezes in his hands. He’d barely regained his breath when it began to catch again.

“Christ,” he muttered, scrabbling for another tissue. “Hih-hih-tchih! Oh my god.” He blinked and shook his head, wrinkling his nose against the incessant tickle the tea had occasioned. “Hih-kchch! Kch! Uhh, my ears just popped – Het-chsh! Atch! Chsh! Heh…hehsh!”

Harry groaned and put his head in his hands.

“Wicked, I know,” Mrs. Weasely said sympathetically.

“Well it’s definitely got kick,” he said faintly.

Mrs. Weasley laughed softly. “That’s what Remus said the first time I gave it to him.”

Almost the moment it was out of her mouth, she wished she hadn’t said it. She looked at him quickly. He clutched the empty mug with white fingers, and his lip trembled.

“Oh, Harry,” she sighed and drew him into a tight hug.

The first second he melted into it, but then, with a stifled sob, he wrenched himself free, fighting his way out of the blankets. Without so much as a backward glance, he bolted from the room.

Link to comment

This. Is. Amazing. It's sooo well written. I love your take on the characters, and the story, and everything! Just beautiful <3 Thank you soooo much for writing this and sharing it!!!

Link to comment

T - T I can't oh my god. This is really brilliant and I really mean it. I love the way you've taken liberties with the characters and gave them a bit more, while still keeping them in character and sofsdaofiuasoifua I LOVE THIS


Link to comment

First of all, this story is so amazing it makes me feel tingly. Second, I am definitely going to try and figure out that recipe.

Link to comment
  • 11 months later...


This topic is now archived and is closed to further replies.

  • Create New...