Brothers in the Stands

Gryffindor vs. Slytherin – Autumn Quidditch Match, 1961
From Arthur Weasley's perspective

The stands were already rumbling by the time Arthur reached the pitch, half-dragging Anatolius behind him like an overeager Niffler hauling a pouch of Galleons. Scarves, banners, and enchanted confetti filled the air, scarlet and gold battling against green and silver in a gusty wind that whipped across the field.

Arthur glanced back, beaming. "You're gonna love this. Real Hogwarts tradition. Better than the sweets trolley, better than Professor Kettleburn setting his eyebrows on fire. This is Quidditch,Ana."

Anatolius adjusted his scarf — Arthur's old Gryffindor one, slightly too long and fraying at the ends — and squinted at the pitch. "Why are the goalposts glowing differently on each end?"

Arthur blinked. "Er—what?"

"The Slytherin ones have a distortion field higher up. Probably windbreaking or... charm stabilization? Makes their Keeper's job easier."

Arthur snorted. "You noticed that, but not the giant floating lion head doing somersaults?"

Anatolius shrugged. "It was loud."

They squeezed into the Gryffindor side of the stands, Arthur waving wildly to a group of fifth-years who responded with loud whoops and backslaps. He introduced Anatolius—though most of them were more interested in the match than in a quiet first-year Hufflepuff.

Arthur didn't mind. He had his little brother beside him, and he was determined to make it a day to remember.

The players zoomed onto the pitch in formation, broomsticks gleaming in the late-autumn light. The sky above was crisp and clear, though the wind was starting to gust in sharp, uneven waves.

Arthur bellowed over the noise, "That's Jameson! Fastest Chaser in the House! And look—Thompson's back from injury!"

Anatolius leaned forward, eyes tracking the brooms instead of the players. Arthur could see it—his little brother wasn't watching the spectacle, not really. He was studying flight arcs, broom stabilization, wand grip technique. He was analyzing everything.

Arthur didn't always understand it, but he admired it all the same.

The whistle blew, and the game exploded into motion.

Jameson made a quick dive and passed to Thompson with stunning precision, and Arthur jumped to his feet with a cheer.

"YES! JUST LIKE THAT!"

But Slytherin was tight today—too tight. Their Beaters boxed out any advances, and their Chasers moved like a clockwork set, smooth and unrelenting. Every time Gryffindor broke the line, Slytherin seemed to be waiting.

Then, thirty minutes in, it happened.

Slytherin's Seeker—Falkner, a narrow-eyed fourth-year with the reflexes of a kneazle—snagged the Snitch in a sudden, brutal dive.

Gasps, groans, and then—green and silver erupted in cheers.

Gryffindor had been ahead by ten points, but with the Snitch worth one-fifty, it was all over.

Arthur sat down hard.

"Unbelievable," he muttered, staring out at the field as Falkner did a victory lap. "We had them. We had them!"

Anatolius was quiet, still sitting forward, elbows on his knees, gaze lingering on the air above the field.

"You alright?" Arthur asked, voice still tinged with disappointment.

Anatolius nodded slowly. "They read our pattern. Slytherin watched the left-wing passes and baited us into repeating. Falkner only dove because their Beater drew our Seeker off balance five seconds earlier."

Arthur blinked. "You're kidding. You saw all that?"

"I think it was planned," Anatolius added. "They knew we were faster, so they closed space instead of matching speed. It's not brute force—it's... anticipation."

Arthur let out a laugh—tired, but impressed. "You know, you could coach a team someday."

"I don't care for competition," Anatolius replied, standing and dusting off his robes. "But the systems are interesting."

Arthur stood with him, giving him a friendly shove on the shoulder. "You're such a weird little genius, you know that?"

"People keep saying that," Anatolius said.

The wind was colder now. The excitement had passed, and Arthur's heart still ached with the sting of the loss, but watching Anatolius walk beside him—lost in thought, already picking apart game mechanics like a Gringotts vault code—it made him smile.

They weren't alike, not really. Arthur loved the noise, the color, the chaos. Anatolius preferred the quiet mysteries behind it all.

But they were brothers. And Arthur was proud. Win or lose, nothing would change that.

"You coming to the next match?" Arthur asked.

"If you don't mind," Anatolius said.

"I demand it. Who else is going to explain how badly we're losing in real-time?"

Anatolius gave a small huff of laughter. It was enough.

Gryffindor Common Room – Later That Evening

The Gryffindor common room was a blaze of firelight and noise. The mood was mixed — some students sulking from the loss, others still high on the excitement. A group of second-years had animated a pair of cushions into dueling broomsticks, and sparks flew across the carpet as someone played dramatic commentary.

Arthur was crammed into one of the big, squashy chairs near the fire, still nursing the bitter taste of defeat, when Jory Renwick leaned over the armrest with a groan.

"We should've had that game," Gilbert muttered. "Thompson hesitated on that last pass."

Arthur perked up. "Yeah, actually—Anatolius said that too."

"Your brother?" Renwick asked, squinting at the fire. "That Hufflepuff kid with the quiet voice?"

"Yeah," Arthur grinned. "He noticed all kinds of stuff. Said the Slytherins baited us into repeating patterns. And something about... I dunno, flight paths? He explained it, but it was sort of—" He waved his hands vaguely. "Complicated. Smart. But complicated."

Benjy Roper leaned in from the hearth rug, where he'd been sketching out broom designs in the air with his wand. "Wait, you mean the first-year who didn't even cheer when Jameson scored? Looked like he was doing maths the whole time?"

"That's how he cheers," Arthur said, mock-offended. "Silently. With graphs."

Renwick laughed. "You're making this up."

"I'm not! He saw that Falkner faked our Seeker out like five seconds before the dive. He said Slytherin weren't faster, just... better at space manipulation or something."

Benjy raised an eyebrow. "So your brother's, what, a Seer now?"

Arthur huffed. "No! He's just brilliant. He sees how things work. Even if no one else does."

There was a pause.

"Alright," Renwick said finally, "But can he fix the Gryffindor broom closet door? Because that's been broken since last term."

Arthur rolled his eyes, but a grin crept onto his face anyway. "Look, I'm just saying — in a few years, you lot'll be trying to recruit him for strategy meetings."

Benjy snorted. "If we can get him to talk to anyone who isn't you, sure."

Arthur shrugged, settling back in his chair. "Doesn't matter. I get him just fine."

He glanced out the window toward the far towers, wondering if Anatolius was still up, maybe already scribbling notes by candlelight, piecing together the physics of brooms or wand trajectories in his head.

And even though they'd lost the match, Arthur's chest felt warm.

Because his little brother wasn't just clever. He was something else entirely.

And one day, the whole school would see it too.