“You heard me. Take. It. Off.”
Alastor will curse everything for the next week if someone doesn’t remove the item of clothing right this instant.
Jaws clenched, face flaming red, Alastor feels ready to burst. “You heard me. Take. It. Off.”
“Bu’ daddy looks so pretty!”
Minerva glances down at the dirty blonde head stood next to them both and then back up to the irate man. “Yes Alastor, you look positively radiant.”
Alastor’s glare could cow Voldemort himself but the woman remains unfazed, a twinkle of amusement in her eyes as she eyes him. He tells himself he will not start shouting. It would frighten Annabelle and it really isn’t anyone’s fault. Except his own.
“It’s cuttin’ me circulation.” If anyone considered his words too closely, they might say the intimidating Head Auror Moody was whining. “I ain’t wearin’ it t’ work.”
Annabelle frowns and Minerva won’t have any of that so instead she turns and rummages around in the trunk. Alastor hopes it’s a pair of scissors or a flamethrower. He had half a mind to send the four year old out of the room and burn it off himself. What Minerva pulls out instead makes the angry red blotches drain swiftly from his face.
“Pikcha, pikcha!” Annabelle hops up and down at the sight of the camera equipment.
“Bloody ‘ell,” Alastor mutters.
Minerva can’t quite put on her reprimanding face as she admonishes, “Language. Do this and then I’ll oblige in removing it for you before you absolutely have to leave for work.”
Her words brook no argument and at least it will be far better than having to wear it into the Ministry. He lets out a heavy sigh and does as he’s directed.
As of that day, a framed wizarding photo sits on Minerva McGonagall’s nightside table. In it, her second husband Alastor A. Moody stands with her daughter Annabelle in his arms. The girl’s fingers reach out and press into the corners of his lips, tugging them up into a comical misshapen toothy grin. Her silent giggles light up her face as the only father she’s ever known shifts uncomfortably in a bright pink tutu that gives off little glittery sparkles with every agitated shift of his hips.
If the photo’s existence gets wielded against the man to get him to scrub the dishes by hand or attend a school function with his wife against his wishes, it’s of little consequence. Families are funny like that.