You know already, but I'll say anyway that I don't own anything DS9-y or anything from my latest crossover. But if I did, then the world would be a lot fluffier! :)

...

The crowded ship full of hitchhikers and stowaways docked in the landing bay, and the passengers spilled out, talking and laughing.

"It's going to be a long day," Odo said to Kira as they observed the odd collection of people from the Promenade.

"If they get out of control and you need more support, just call Ops," she replied. "We don't want anyone injured like the last time." Odo nodded. Kira waved goodbye, and walked towards the turbo lift. Just as she reached it, the doors slid open and Doctor Bashir stepped out.

"Morning, Major."

"Technically, it's afternoon," she smiled. Doctor Bashir's face turned to a look of shock.

"Afternoon?" He rushed past Kira, his long legs taking him across the Promenade and into Quark's before she could ask him what was wrong. She shook her head, and stepped into the lift.

* * *

The tall, red-headed, freckled man detached himself from a group of rather drunk Klingons that were slurring insults at him, and stepped out onto what looked like a brightly lit shopping centre. As he walked along, admiring the lights and architecture, he spied some kind of bar. Why not?, he thought, and walked in, seating himself next to a heavily built, warty-looking man. He set his rucksack down on the empty seat next to him, which squealed as it hit the chair. The large, grey man looked at him curiously.

"Hey," the redhead called to who he presumed was the bartender. "Do you have any Butterbeer?" The ferengi looked at him.

"Uhh...I'm not sure. I'll ask my brother." He shuffled comically over to a creature who looked similar to him. "Brother?"

"What?" asked Quark, annoyed.

"Do we sell Butterbeer?"

The more loudly-dressed ferengi looked confused. "I've never heard of it," he said. "Who ordered?"

Rom pointed to the ginger man with the big, old-fashioned bag. Quark walked over to him.

"What's your name, then?" The man stared.

"George," he said. "George Weasley."

"What brings you to DS9, George?" George sighed.

"My business is falling apart. After my brother died, our shop stopped getting the customers, so I packed some stock, did a little magic, and ended up on some spaceship full of nobodys like me." Quark looked at him.

"You're in business?" George nodded. "Make much profit?"

"Not really," said the young man. "Like I said, no one's interested in what I've got to sell."

"I might be," Quark said, with a greedy look in his eyes. "Show me what you've got."

George leaned over to his rucksack, and unzipped it. Several high-pitched squeaks came from inside as he put his hand in and took out a fluffy, pink, wriggling ball of fluff. Quark screamed.

"Get out! Get out of here now, you one-eared freak!"

"You better leave," Rom warned him. "He doesn't like t-"

But George had already left.

* * *

Doctor Bashir watched the scene at Quark's from a secluded corner, a synthale clutched in his hands. He couldn't believe how stupid he had been.

Miles had booked a holosuite for both of them. "1100 hours on Sunday," he had told Julian, and Doctor Bashir had promised him he would be there. Because Chief O'Brien was going on a two week long mission to the Gamma Quadrant at 1400 hours that same day, and Julian hadn't woken up until 1430! He swore, annoyed at his body clock, annoyed at Captain Sisko for arranging these stupid expeditions, annoyed at himself.

Perhaps he could buy Miles a gift to make it up to him, and then invite him round to his quarters and make it up some more when he got back. Julian wondered what Miles would really like. Keiko had acted strangely towards him for a week after he gave the Chief some new pajamas. That wasn't a very sensible move.

As the man with the large rucksack on his back ran out of the bar, Julian had a brainwave. He could buy Miles one of those things! It looked fluffy and cute, and Julian knew Miles liked cute.

Doctor Bashir ran like a sprinter for the second time in an hour, and caught up with the gloomy-looking man, who was rubbing one side of his head where an ear should have been.

"George!" Doctor Bashir cried. George looked around to see who was calling his name, and stopped walking. "Can I buy one of those creatures?"

George looked doubtful. "I dunno. The bartender was really scared of them. Maybe they're not worth selling."

"Can I have a look?" asked Julian. George reluctantly opened the bag, which emitted delighted squeals. He pulled out a yellow, considerably bigger fluffy thing. Julian's eyes widened.

"You're selling tribbles?"

"They're called puffeskins," George told him. "They don't need feeding, they love attention, and to be honest, they don't mind being beaten up, either." He threw the puffeskin roughly to the floor. It bounced, and landed in George's arms, squealing happily. Julian grinned.

"Have you got one in blue?"

* * *

Chief O'Brien walked along the corridor to Julian's quarters. He'd received a message that was waiting for him from the doctor, telling him he had a surprise waiting. The Chief pressed the button on the side of the door, and it bleeped.

"Come in," Julian called, and Miles entered.

"Julian, where were you?" he asked him, then looked at him suspiciously. "What's that behind your back?"

Julian grinned seductively. "It's my make up gift to you, to say sorry." Miles sighed.

"You didn't have to do that."

"Hold out your hands," Julian instructed him. Miles did. "Now, close your eyes."

Julian walked over, and placed the fluffy blue creature in Miles' cupped hands, and kissed him lightly on the lips. Miles opened his eyes.

"You got me a TRIBBLE?"

"Puffeskin, actually," Julian replied. "Don't you like it?" Miles looked at him, worriedly.

"I should have told you before, that I'm – AaaCHOO!" He sneezed violently, dropping the puffeskin onto Julian's sofa. It squeaked appreciatively, and rolled back and forth along the sofa, humming happily to itself.

"- Allergic to tribbles," he finished. Julian put his arm around him.

"I thought tribbles were extinct?"

"It doesn't stop me being allergic to them!" The engineer snapped at him. The doctor looked upset.

"Sorry," Miles apologised. "Thanks, anyway. It was nice of you to get me something." The doctor looked concerned.

"Miles, your face..." he murmured.

"What about it?" Chief O'Brien asked.

"It's gone all puffy. We'll have to get you to the infirmary. I'll give you the antidote even if it's not serious, just in case we meet any more in the future."

Miles felt his face, which had swollen rapidly, and was now blotchy with blue spots.

"Do I look like Dax if I'm spotty?"

"No," Julian grinned. "Your tribble spots are much cuter..."