"James, what's that on the table?"
"I think it's... a... cornucopia?"
"What's it there for?"
"Decoration, I guess."
"No, that's too obvious."
"Oh, well then, Mr. Clever Clogs, what do you think it is?"
"A bomb."
"A bomb? Why in the name of Merlin's mud mask would my mother put a bloody bomb on the table?"
"I think your mother is a terrorist in disguise, James."
"Oh, if that's all, then."
"Poke it."
"WHAT?"
"Poke the bomb, James."
"NO! If I poke it, the damned thing will probably go off, won't it? You poke it, if you're so interested!"
"No! If I poke it, and die, who will carry on my beautiful face? No-one, that's who. Just poke the bomb, James!"
"Fine!"
James' mother enters
"James? Why are you poking my bra?"
---
A/N: Written for WritingToStayHalfSane's Bra Challenge. It's Sirius and James, about twelve, arguing over who should poke James' mothers' bra, which they think is a Cornucopia-Bomb. The intelligence of the young...
Prepare yourself: It's a response to angry flamers: Remember guys, it's probably Nineteen-seventy-two, and I'm fairly sure Jo said James' mum and dad were on the older side when he was born, maybe fourty-ish, so the bra is probably at least twenty years old (yes, we do keep bras that long), so it's a bra in the style of the nineteen-fifties. So Jemmy and Siri AREN'T just being dumb, the bra probably DOES look like a cournucoupia. This comes from the girl who spent an entire month in Fifties underclothes for a production of Grease. I'm fairly sure I know.