He's Brilliant, Honestly

Gryffindor Common Room – Late September, 1961
POV: Arthur Weasley

The fire in the hearth popped loudly, scattering golden sparks that danced upward before vanishing. Rain pattered steadily against the tower windows, making everything feel warm and closed in, like a cozy pocket of the castle sealed off from the blustery world outside.

Arthur Weasley sat sprawled at the long oak table in the center of the Gryffindor common room, parchment unrolled, quill idle, and a half-eaten sugar quill sticking out of the corner of his mouth.

He wasn't working on his Transfiguration essay. Not really. Not since he started telling Gilbert Longbottom all about his little brother's adventures in magical theory.

"So then," Arthur was saying, with increasing animation, "he starts rambling about wand harmonics and says, 'I think spells have a rhythm, not just structure—like music.' And Professor Flitwick goes completely still, like—completely—and says, 'Now that is interesting.'"

Gilbert sighed. "Arthur, it's Thursday. We have Charms first thing tomorrow. You'll be dead on your feet if you don't start."

"Right, but did you hear what I said? Flitwick stopped talking. I've never seen him stop mid-lecture. Not even when Gudgeon fell off the desk trying to levitate a bucket."

Across the table, Molly Prewett looked up from her Arithmancy notes, her hair tied back with a faded red ribbon and a smudge of ink on her cheek. Her expression was dry as a toast rack.

"Oh, we heard you," she said. "Every floor of the tower probably heard you. Unless you've developed your own spell for magically amplifying the sound of bragging."

Arthur flushed. "I'm not bragging! I mean—I am—but it's about Anatolius, not me."

Molly's brow quirked upward. "Anatolius. The quiet one? Bit shorter than you, always looking like he's thinking very hard about something invisible?"

Arthur beamed. "That's him! He's in Hufflepuff, did you know? I thought for sure he'd be a Ravenclaw, but no—the hat put him there in less than ten seconds."

"Must've seen something solid in him," Molly said, returning to her notes. "Hufflepuff doesn't mean simple, Arthur. They work hard, they don't show off, and they usually end up being the ones keeping the rest of us alive."

Arthur pointed his quill at her. "Exactly. That's what I'm saying! He's not flashy, he's… thoughtful. He doesn't need to shout. He just does things. Clever things."

"Like what?" Gilbert muttered, head resting in one hand.

Arthur leaned forward again, practically vibrating.

"You know the suit of armor on the third floor? The one that shrieks every time someone walks past at night?"

Gilbert groaned. "Who hasn't been startled by that thing?"

"Well," Arthur said smugly, "Anatolius silenced it."

Molly looked up again, interested despite herself. "You mean he snuck out and hexed the armor?"

"No! He figured out how to mute the joint friction sounds using a resonance-dampening charm. And he said he linked it to a proximity field. It only works when someone walks by after dark." Arthur grinned proudly. "Said it was 'for the benefit of the sleepy and the sneaky.'"

Molly let out a short laugh. "That's either dangerously rebellious or sweetly practical. Can't tell which."

"With Anatolius," Arthur said fondly, "it's both."

There was a short pause, during which Gilbert finally scribbled a line of his essay and Molly's quill scratched across parchment. Arthur sat back and looked into the fire.

"Sometimes I wonder if he's too quiet for Hogwarts," he said suddenly. "Not because he can't handle it—he can. But… you know how people can be. Loud sorts get noticed. Quiet ones get overlooked."

Molly looked up at him again, more gently this time. "You're loud enough for both of you, Arthur."

He chuckled. "You're not wrong."

She tapped the end of her quill against her lip, thinking. "You care a lot about him, don't you?"

"'Course I do. He's my brother."

"And how's he adjusting?"

Arthur smiled, but there was something softer behind it. "He doesn't say much. But I catch him watching things. Taking it all in. I think… he's already working on something. I don't know what it is, but I can tell. He gets that furrow between his eyebrows. That's when you know he's thinking too hard to eat."

"Sounds familiar," Molly said, nudging his parchment with her quill. "Like someone else I know who forgets to finish his essay because he's too busy talking about obscure armor hacks."

Arthur grinned and picked up his quill. "All right, all right. Back to work. But—just for the record—he is brilliant."

Molly smiled down at her parchment. "I believe you, Arthur. And I'll bet he's lucky to have a brother who says it out loud."

Arthur glanced sideways at her, ears a bit pink. He didn't say anything, but he looked quietly pleased.