Title: The Night Before Christmas
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: HG/MF in this chapter
Disclaimer: I don't own them, but if you haven't figured this out yet, you're way too stupid to be alive.
Warnings: Cross-Gen, Drunkenness?
A/N: I know it's definitely not an original idea, but if I get positive feedback I might continue. You could suggest pairings for future couples. /hint

Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house, two creatures were stirring, significantly larger than a mouse…

"Pff – ouch! It's trying to bite me, George, I swear!"

"Ah, but it is merely suffering for your art, FredaVinci. By next year every home – or at least the fun ones – will be equipped with one of these darlings around Christmas."

"They'll hold us responsible if anyone gets killed, you know."

"Er…Yes, of course."

Fred and George, or Gred and Forge, if you will, were naturally up to no good. Naturally, they had paid no mind to the various pleadings for a prank-free Christmas. At the moment, the duo was setting up something they'd been working on since September. The holidays were such a perfect time for pranking; everyone was so full of holiday cheer that they were blissfully unaware of what was to come with their next step forward.

Hermione really really needed to get upstairs. The six books that she was carrying were threatening to fall out of her arms any minute now. Mrs. Weasley had ordered her to put the books away and have some fun. Yeah. Right. This was NEWT year, time spent frolicking was indubitably a waste of time.

Mundungus, on the other hand, was taking it easy. It was Christmas, he'd had way too much eggnog, and he wanted nothing more than to go downstairs and take a nap on the couch. Or maybe get some more eggnog. He couldn't decide.

Both stepped onto the stairs, intent on their own destinations and not noticing one other. This was the reason, perhaps, that they proceeded to crash into each other in the middle of the stairs.

"Ooof!" Hermione's books tumbled to the floor and she glared at them in dismay.

"Hallo, Hermione!" Mundungus gurgled rather drunkenly. "Sorry, I seem to have bumped into you there!"

"Quite alright Mundung – Mr. Fletcher." Hermione frowned at the obviously tipsy man and lifted her foot to take a step past him. Tried to lift her foot. Why wouldn't her foot lift? "Oh no." She looked up.

Oh. No. Something told Mundungus he shouldn't look up. An instinct, perhaps. Or maybe the ominous feeling that if he looked up now he would soon be falling down a flight of stairs. "What is it, 'Ermione?"

"It's some enchantment. On the mistletoe. We're stuck until we-"

"Mistletoe?" Now Mundungus looked up, staggering, but managing not to fall somehow. Gee, this floor is sticky, he thought. "Well, only one thing to do when there's mistletoe, eh?"

He was upon Hermione before she could dwell on it, his stubble scratchy and he tasted of alcohol, but she supposed it wasn't bad, so far as completely necessary kisses go.

He pulled back and smiled at her in a purely eggnog influenced fashion, "Well, good night, Hermione. Think I'll go for a nap." He smiled again and padded around her down the stairs.

Hermione stared after him. "Night," she mumbled lamely, gathering up her books and quill and continuing upstairs.