A short companion piece to my fic, Stupid.

-----------------------

Where is it?

Albus scoured the room one more time, and gave up. It wasn't there. He needed the stupid thing to pack for school. He was leaving in the morning with the others, for the first time...he couldn't leave his broom behind! Okay, think back. When did he have it last...he'd played that game earlier today with his dad, James and Hugo; maybe it was still out on the mini-pitch, but he didn't think he'd left it there. Figuring he might as well check, he started down the stairs, jumping the last couple steps to every landing. As he reached the last flight, he heard voices coming from the kitchen below him. Straining one ear, he could make out the distinctive wry chuckle of his father and the higher, tinkling laugh of his aunt Hermione. He crouched and peeked down through the railings at the pair, and saw them washing a bunch of dishes at the sink, by hand. Albus frowned. Why weren't they using magic?

Getting to his feet and swinging up onto the banister, he slid down the rest of the stairs and landed on the ground floor with a thud, perfectly balanced after several years of practice. The adults in the kitchen gave a quick look over their shoulders to see who was there. "How come you never use magic to clean the dishes?" Albus asked, his eleven-year-old brow furrowed in curiosity. Hid dad and aunt glanced at each other with strange expressions on their faces, then looked back down at him.

"Magic doesn't always get all the spots out," Hermione said. That didn't make any sense to Albus. It was magic. Magic could do anything.

"Sure it does, it's magic."

Harry and Hermione looked at each other again. "We were both raised as Muggles, by Muggles," his father explained. "It's nice to have a little reminder of what it's like, living without magic. It's humbling."

"What's humbling mean?"

"It means it helps keep you from getting arrogant and self-important."

"Oh. Well, have you seen my broom? I can't find it anywhere."

"You might try the pitch out back," Harry suggested, and Albus nodded. He'd been going there anyway. As he turned to go, shaking his head at the adults' silliness, he saw his dad pass a dish to his aunt to dry, and their fingers did not touch. As he walked outside and made his way out to the field, Albus realized something—he didn't think he'd ever seen them touch at all. It was very odd for such a closely bonded, affectionate, loving family—had something happened before he was born that made them distant? It bothered him that there should be any problems between anyone in his family. But it was true; now that he thought about it, it was subtle but there. He had never seen them touch.

"Oh, Harry..."

Albus watched with big eyes, trying to peer out of Mummy's arms and catch a glimpse of what Daddy had gotten Aunt 'Mione for Christmas. It wasn't very big; couldn't be all that special. But then her eyes started filling up with tears. Oh, no! She was upset! Albus didn't want her to be sad. It was Christmas, everyone should be happy! But here—now she was looking up at Daddy and smiling even though she was crying a little. Weird. Albus looked over at Daddy, and he had a little lopsided grin on his face, and Aunt 'Mione wiped her eyes with one hand but didn't get up to hug him. Why not? Albus always hugged everyone who gave him presents. It was only good manners.

Aunt 'Mione held up a little gold chain with a thing hanging off it. Sparkly. "It's just like the one my grandmother had," she said, and above his head, Mummy made a little sighing noise. "You...you remembered."

Daddy nodded, and they sat there for a LONG time looking at each other all happy-like, and Aunt 'Mione still didn't hug Daddy. Albus squirmed and Mummy shushed him. He wanted to see more presents!

Lost in thought, he almost walked right into the broom shed. He looked around on the ground and, sure enough, there was his broom, right where he'd dropped it after the game. He could swear he'd brought it in, but apparently not. Albus grabbed it and started walking back towards the Burrow.

The roar of the crowd was deafening. Albus watched, cheering as loud as he could, as his father floated gently up from the side of the stadium, the tiny golden Snitch clutched safely in his hand. The next few minutes were a blur of stamping feet and hoarse throats from yells of victory, and then his dad came into the VIP box with the rest of the England team and everyone surged forward to praise him. Everyone was there: his mother, brother and sister; Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron; Rosie and Hugo; Teddy; Uncle Bill, Aunt Fleur, and Victoire; Uncle George and Aunt Cerise; Uncle Charlie and Uncle Percy; everyone in the family, all hugging his dad at once.

Afterward, once the rest of the box had more or less emptied, everyone went up one by one and shook his hand or clapped him on the back or hugged him. Albus went second last. Glowing with pride, he was caught up in his father's infectious grin and threw his arms around him, squeezing as tight as he dared; he'd seen that Bludger hit the small of his dad's back, and it had to have hurt. When his dad picked him up and groaned about how heavy Albus was getting, he laughed. "Alright, shall we go?" Harry said to the group at large, and was met with noises of agreement.

"Hermione, you didn't get a chance to congratulate him, did you?" Albus's mum asked, and Albus nodded, but his aunt shook her head, smiling.

"I did already. Now, let's get to the Portkey; I can't wait to taste your cooking, Gin."

"My cooking? We're going back to the Burrow!"

"I've been entertaining the lot of you for the whole weekend, it's your turn to make a meal!" Everyone laughed as they made their way over to the stairwell and started down.

Albus frowned as he reached the back door to the Burrow. He really never had seen them touch. An impressive feat, to live practically on top of each other (as everyone did in this family) and go the past eleven years without brushing elbows. He shrugged and tried to dismiss it as an oddity that would never be explained, but his mind wouldn't let it go. He resolved to ask Rosie about it tomorrow. She was a girl; maybe she'd understand. As he walked through the dining room and up to the stairs, he glanced into the kitchen. Harry was putting the last of the dishes away in a cupboard, and Hermione was leaning against the counter. Albus's eyes fell to a chain around her neck, and the sparkly pendant that hung off it. He'd never seen her without it, now he thought about it. He shook his head—adults were incomprehensible to the end—and made a mental note to ask Rosie about that, too.

He tossed his broom onto his bed and sat down beside it, wondering what other secrets there were to be uncovered within the family. Maybe someone was secretly half-Merperson. Or maybe James was adopted. That would be satisfying. Oh, well; he'd think about it in the morning.