Chapter 4: Arnold the Pygmy Puff and Dustbunny

It must be known, after this, that you should always keep the magic mistletoe in a LOCKED box. Really. This is IMPERATIVE. Why? Well...let's just put it like this...

Line.

Fred and George hadn't cleaned the house in months. And yes, that was plural. Now before you get all huffy and scold-y on them, you must know that a business in very time consuming...and that they were lazy anyways, so who really cares? That's why one day, the twins had to thank their lucky stars that the said fluff ball-like little buggers bred like rabbits. Only worse; they bred like Weasleys. And don't quote them on that, either. Mum would have a field day.

"George? Have you seen the magic mistletoe anywhere, perchance?" Fred asked, his head popping around the corner and looking inquiringly at his twin. George shrugged and went back to demolishing the kitchen while gleefully humming "God Rest Ye Merry Hippogriffs" under his breath. Fred only had a problem with one thing. The apron.

"'Skip the kiss and just shag the cook'?" asked Fred, dubiously eyeing George's neon pink apron. George tossed him a careless grin and went back to hacking furiously at the rutabagas. Fred shrugged and went to scour the sitting room, leaving George to his strange concoction (Who used rutabagas, anyways? I mean, come on. Rutabagas?).

After checking behind the drapes, around the side table, attacking the closet, and eyeing the ceiling curiously, Fred's line of sight finally fell on the sofa. He shivered with fear, then began to inch towards it. Slowly. Finally, when he reached the cursed item of furniture, he crouched down and took a peek. He reeled back (in a manly way, of course) at what he saw. It was a Pygmy Puff, a monster-sized dustbunny and the magic mistletoe. Merlin help us all.

"George! You might want to take a look at this." Fred called, his voice quavering the slightest bit.

"SOD OFF! I'M MAKING SUPPER!" George yelled straight back, and Fred glared at the wall hiding his twin from sight. If it had been able to do so, the wall would have shivered in apprehension.

"Now, George." Fred said, his voice flattening out to a threatening tone. The chopping noises paused in the kitchen, and the next moment George poked his head in the door.

"Yeah? I'm a little busy here, Fred; the rutabagas are giving me a spot of trouble." George groused, adjusting his grip on the cleaver in his hands. Fred raised a speculative eyebrow and told him what he'd seen. George's face drained itself of color, and he began to stutter.

"W-what d'you MEAN a pygmy puff's got to get it on with a bleeding dustbunny because they're under the mistletoe and we wouldn't be able to use it again if they didn't? Is it even possible for a Pygmy Puff to snog?" George asked, his face contorting into what would've been an amusing shape if it hadn't been for the circumstances.

"Well, if ANY living thing is caught under the mistletoe, than it technically has to snog something to get out." Fred said, then had a light bulb moment. Funny things, those.

"I know! We could give it a bit of encouragement!" Fred exclaimed, and immediately bent down again to look at the three small things (out of many) under the couch. However, when Fred urged the little Pygmy Puff on with a helpful nudge, the ickle thing glared at him. Can they really do that, you ask...well, keep in mind that they could FLY under my jurisdiction.

"Go on, then. Think of the mound of...fluff...in front of you is your missus back in your pen. Go on, then!" Fred said, nudging it a bit more. The Pygmy Puff looked as though it would've shrugged for a moment (if it had shoulders) and bent on its imaginary knees towards the ball of fluff.

Arnold's P.O.V.

Wizzle wazzle! Wip weeky topli...lumm...zeeky ting blong.

Dustbunny's P.O.V.

...

No one's P.O.V.

George shrugged and whipped out the camera out of his back pocket.

Snap!

The Pygmy Puff looked up irritably and gave the twins a furry finger. Fred just shrugged and snatched both the mistletoe and the irritable Pygmy Puff out from under the couch.

"You're going back to your pen, you cheeky devil." Fred said, wincing when it bit him. George sniggered and went back to his mess int he kitchen while Fred went to put the little monster away.

"Cheers, you ickle *rsehole." Fred muttered as he shoved the Pygmy Puff into his pen. The Pygmy Puff shrugged and went back to producing merchandise.