Hey guys I have now been in bed with COVID for the past two days and have eaten nothing more substantial than half a vegan ham sandwich and various lemsips. As you are probably already anticipating this particular story is going to be even more surreal than usual in my fevered state. This fanfic does not focus upon Luna and Ginny but they will play cameo roles and in those cameo roles, as usual, they are dating so fear not. Buckle up ladies and gents and let's get cracking.

Fred and George Weasley stared in horror at the spluttering creation before their eyes as it belched out yet another pygmy puff. George stepped forward, caught and then gloomily deposited the squirming animal into the enormous cage behind him. It was already filled to the brim with a sea of squeaking, neon orange puffs.

'They're just so hideous' he said disgustedly. It was true; the neon orange of the rodent-like creatures was quite unlike any colour they had seen before- a sort of luminescent rotted pumpkin. They were also distinctly elongated compared to a regular pygmy puff giving them a snakey, unnatural look: not exactly the usual fluffy, bouncy pygmy puffs they had been hoping for. He had absolutely no idea how they were going to sell any of these things at the shop.

Fred watched miserably as yet another lambent pygmy puff slowly rotated down the tube, it's teeth, claws, organs and fur forming at rapid speed. 'This has got to be our worst idea yet. Why didn't we at least build a stop button into this fucking thing?'

Downstairs, they could hear the ominous tones of Mrs Weasley pottering around the kitchen, preparing breakfast. Whilst Ginny's destruction of the Dark Lord had sprung a golden age of democracy, freedom and happiness, the carnage from the Lovegood Gauntlet had also destroyed the entirety of Diagon Alley including the twins' shop, meaning that while it was being rebuilt they were staying at the family home. Overall, it was a lovely experience: reliving their childhood, they spent hours playing Quidditch in the garden, teasing Ron and experimenting with weird ideas for their shop, something they could do without badgering from their mother now that they called it 'testing different stock'. Unfortunately, this testing of merchandise had got them into a rather sticky situation. The problem had been that they didn't have enough pygmy puffs to sell as they weren't breeding fast enough: in a flash of what they had considered genius at the time they had created the monstrosity which chugged away before them. The Pygmy Creation #1, churning out the creatures at a rate of once every 10 minutes. Well, they certainly had enough pygmy puffs now. As various doomed spells had testified, the machine was extremely well built, with the one exception of making correctly coloured and proportioned pygmy puffs. Much to the agony of the twins it was impervious to explosion, freezing, impediment charms and even physical hits, churning out endless stock for them without even a faulter.

They could hear Mrs Weasley putting the kettle on for tea now, a sure and terrifying sign that she would soon call everyone down for breakfast.

'Maybe we can put a new crate under the Pygmy Creation, to catch the puffs as they fall', said George desperately.

'Yeah, but they'll find out eventually', said Fred, an edge of hysteria beginning to creep into his voice. 'Oh boys, I heard the most terrific bang last night and then all this squeaking! What have you been up to in there? And I think it's been getting louder… could I go up and have a look? I'm terribly interested in what you're working on'.

As he caught the newly formed pygmy puff whizzing out of the tube and put it into a new crate (the old one was getting rather full), Fred considered his mother's reaction when she discovered that two of her sons had created the pygmy puff version of the magic porridge pot. He turned to his twin brother and gulped.

Half an hour later, as the entire Weasley family stared in silent horror at the Pygmy Creation #1, George began to rethink his views on his sister. In previous months, he had felt sorry for her after she had lost all the muscle mass she had gained after training so hard. When, after the celebrated Lovegood Gauntlet she had stopped going to the gym and eating entire rotisserie chickens and she had shrunk back down to her regular size in a matter of three months, George had been very nice to her about it. The rest of the Weasley family had suffered a similar fate, but none had taken it so hard as she had. Well, he wasn't going to feel sorry for her anymore. A look of absolute superiority and smugness was on her face as her eyes flicked between the Pygmy Creation #1 and Mrs Weasley's thunderous expression: Luna, who was also staying with them was being much nicer but equally little help.

'Oh, they're so sweet, she cooed, picking one of the hideously elongated puffs. 'A bit skinny though, I think they need feeding up.' She tickled it behind the ears as it exploded into nauseatingly irritating rodent giggles. Mrs Weasley's right eye was beginning to twitch madly, and George thought his sister was making the right call when she asked her girlfriend out on a walk, thus leaving the room.

/

The manager of Witch Weekly massaged her brow anxiously, hopelessly trying to think of something, anything she could use in next month's fashion shoot. If only the model, Fabian Dijon wasn't so fussy, so entitled: if the set up for a shoot wasn't to his liking he would storm out in a huff. She wouldn't have bothered with the whole farce of a shoot except for the fact that, if the Witch Weekly team managed to pull it off, it was predicted Fabian's face on the front cover would sell them an extra 30% above their average of copies. And she needed that extra cash very much: it could expand the work she was doing greatly. Fabian's looks were the perfect hook for readers: a perfect complexion, the blemishless coffee-colour skin, thick, glossy black hair and dark, soulful eyes which were enough to turn even the most hard-hearted witch or wizard into a melted puddle on the floor. However, the team had to get it perfect. Even the wrong brand of tea in the model's cup could send him scurrying (Yorkshire tea was his preferred beverage- woe betide anyone who gave him PG Tips or Cornish). She supposed she ought to be looking for some high-quality props for the shoot as well. But what? Perhaps she could rent out the Hogwarts Lake for the day, take some emo- looking shots of Fabian dreamily trailing a hand in the water, looking up at the bruise coloured sky? Or could she hire a hippogriff? Was that even legal? If only there was something, something that could be used.

/

Fred and George opened the door, smiling cheerfully at the woman in front of them. She was rather plain and mousy looking, not what one would expect from the manager of a fashion magazine. She stared nervously back and gave them an anxious smile.

'I saw your posters', she said in a timid voice. Fred was sure she had: he and George had plastered them on every magical wall and shoved them through the letterbox of every magical house advertising the selling of 'cute orange slender pygmy puffs' with an out of focus, blurry photograph so potential buyers couldn't get a clear shot of the monstrosities they were trying to be sold. So far they had only managed to sell a few: two to a half blind old lady who thought they were weasels, and one to a very pleased Luna Lovegood. The situation was becoming desperate. Over the last two days since their invention, the sheer volume of pygmy puffs was such that they had started to have to place crates in the garden, having run out of space in their bedroom. Fred had absolutely no idea what this woman could want with a load of neon orange, elongated pygmy puffs but he didn't care to find out: as long as she took a substantial amount off of their hands he was happy. So it was with a hopeful bounce in his step that he led the way outside so she could look at the animals. As they walked, the woman asked 'do you think they'll photograph well?'

'Erm', said Fred. 'Maybe'.

No more was said then as by that point they had reached the back garden and the crates of pygmy puffs. The Pygmy Creation was there too, having been moved to their room so it could churn out pygmy puffs into large boxes placed under the tube which they would replace every three hours or so. The woman took one look at the sorry scene, wrinkled her nose in disgust and walked away.

'Luna', said Ginny as she watched her girlfriend staring at a piece of paper. 'What are you doing?' The blonde girl had been puzzling over a small piece of card for at least ten minutes by now, and Ginny was starting to become worried.

'You know that woman who came to visit Fred and George this morning? I think she dropped this card, look.'

Ginny gazed at it, wondering what the big deal was. It looked like a typical business manager card- Miss Deborah Sings, Witch Weekly Editor etcetera, with a photo of Miss Deborah Sings smiling chummily at the camera, wand in hand. 'What's wrong with it?', she asked in confusion. 'It just looks like a normal business card if you ask me.'

'Ginny, you have to promise you won't laugh. This is really serious.'

'Ok?'

Luna looked at her girlfriend gravely. 'I think she's the notorious gang leader Big D.'

To her credit, Ginny attempted to keep a straight face.

'I'm serious!', said Luna crossly. 'My Dad went to her gang once to get some blacklisted bladislatch to use in a potion',- (Ginny wisely decided not to inquire further)-'that's where I recognised her from! I thought I knew her from somewhere when we saw her out the window but this card really brought it home to me! What do you think we should do? Should we go to the Ministry of Magic?'

Ginny's mind was beginning to hum, forming a fantastic plan. 'No', she said ,'I don't think so. I have a better idea.'

One week later the house was miraculously clear of pygmy puffs, save Arnold, Sunshine and Bertram (Luna's newly named orange puff she had bought from the Weasley twins). Fred and George were shaking their heads in amazement, discussing over the breakfast table how, although the fashion manager had originally seemed so disappointed with the pygmy puffs she had later written to inform them that the creatures were 'just what she needed' and she would 'take the lot', crucially including the machine. Not only had she freed the Weasleys from their ever-increasing burden but she had paid them 9,000 galleons for the privilege: as one might expect, the Weasley family was delighted. As recognition for all they had put the family through for that one hellish rodent-infested week, Fred and George were planning (and paying for) a trip to New York. Life was good- the rodent machine had turned out to be a marvellous invention.

/

Luna guiltily got under the covers that evening, hugging Ginny. 'Are you sure we did the right thing?', she asked. 'Are you sure we shouldn't have gone to the Ministry?'

Ginny laughed. 'Listen Luna', she said, 'that woman blackmails about two hundred innocent people a day. Anyway, it wasn't really blackmail so much as an agreement not to inform the Aurors. Rest assured her gang won't come after us in revenge: I'm the most feared witch of the age. I destroyed Lord Voldemort with a single blow.'

Two months later Fabian's much anticipated issue of Witch Weekly was released, having to be reprinted six times it sold out so fast. Part of the charm was how cheerful he looked: a wistful Fabian looking soulfully at the camera was heart-melting, a smiling Fabian was radiant. Surrounded by a sea of strange looking pygmy puffs he reclined on a sofa dressed as the Pied Piper of Hamlin, looking regal. The front page article discussed his direct heritage to the Piper, and rumour had it he had been so charmed by Witch Weekly's knowledge of this he had done the shoot for free.

Hope you guys enjoyed this absolutely chaotic ride, it certainly made me feel better writing it! As usual please follow and review (unless it's a bad review in which I beg you to remember I am a feverish invalid and so am not to be held accountable for my actions at this time) (just kidding I love constructive criticism).