(607): I hate how you keep a running list of people who have seen me naked.
"Strange List"
"And Sophie makes fourteen," James Sirius Potter noted vigilantly, marking down the girl's name in a small notebook that he pulled out from his jeans pocket. His brother, Albus, glared at him, messy dark hair ruffled and skewed in every possible direction while his green eyes promised brotherly revenge.
"You know," James continued idly. "This list is really getting absurdly long. It's embarrassing."
"Don't feel obliged to keep it," Al snapped sarcastically.
James sighed heartily. "Albus, Albus, Albus… You just don't understand. This is my tool of revenge. When you turn seventeen it will reveal its contents to the world, and you will be mortified beyond belief but none of the adults will remember much because the Firewhiskey will block out the memories," he explained. "Of course, the kids will all remember, and that, my dear brother, is what makes it all worthwhile."
One might point out, here, that Albus Severus Potter was currently absolved of any type of clothing, and was holding a very small towel over his crotch to save what little face he had remaining. Sophie Templeton, visiting Lily, had quite enjoyed the view, truth-be-told, presented to her by Fred and Rose Weasley, regular guests at the Potter household who had little to no scruples and a penchant for mischief. To cut a long story short, Albus' clothes had vanished and a fourteen year old girl had been graced with the image of a very naked and profusely blushing Slytherin Quidditch Captain, before regaining her dulled sense and made herself a reasonably dignified exit, flushing pink.
"I'm still most impressed by last year's Halloween Fiasco." James hadn't stopped talking. He had a look of fond remembrance on his freckled face. "Seven unsuspecting seventh years-"
"That wasn't my fault!" Albus cried defensively.
James grinned happily and put his notebook away, seemingly uncaring of the way he flirted with danger. Al kept his glower trained on his elder brother.
"You know," he told James in irritation, his voice low. "I really hate how you keep a running list of people who have seen me naked."
And then, in perfect comic timing, the floo flared emerald and out of it stepped frail, retired Professor McGonagall, her face revealing none of what she was thinking as she took in the unclothed Albus, the deceitfully angelic-looking James and, finally, the mercifully placed wash-towel. For a moment she stared at him, and then with superb self-control and dignity she walked through into the kitchen, not a sound passing through her lips.
James did his best to hold his poker face, but it lasted all of three seconds before he burst into guffawing laughter and fumbled to whip the little black book out again to mark in the illustrious name of Minerva McGonagall.
"I hate everyone," Albus said to no one in particular.
End.
Harhar. :D Poor Al.
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