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They meet at Harry and Draco’s wedding.
At first, Dudley isn’t sure why he even attends—he’s only exchanged a couple of letters with Harry in the years since they last saw each other, and by the time the ceremony is over and they’ve all been herded toward the massive banquet to celebrate, he’s still half-convinced the wedding invite was nothing but a courtesy he was meant to politely decline.
He doesn’t fit in. He’s not like any of the guests—he’s not one of them. He doesn’t think anyone has even looked his way all day, save for Harry, who introduced him to Draco—a serious, angled face standing in stark contrast with his colourful wizarding attire—when he arrived.
Absent-mindedly, eyes sweeping over the beautiful, colourful, bright-with-laughter scenery that is his cousin’s wedding, Dudley reaches out for a Brandy snap from the tray in front of him.
What his fingers brush against is definitely not a Brandy snap.
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t see you—”
“Ah, sorry, it’s—it’s fine.” The bloke—buzz haircut, slightly rumpled robes that are much simpler than the grooms’, but still remarkably beautiful—blushes faintly, pulling his hand away and then inching it toward the tray again. “Mind if I—”
“No, no—of course not. I was kind of hoarding this side of the table, sorry. I was trying not to stand in the way of… well, of anyone else.”
Already biting into a Brandy snap, the bloke nods with a grunt. “Weddings are hard. So many people you know from different places gather in the same place.” He shudders. Dudley can’t help but snicker at the sight.
“Well, that’s not exactly a problem for me,” he admits. “I don’t know anyone here.”
“Oh. Well, there’s an easy solution for that!” The bloke wipes his hand against his robes and stretches it out to him, flashing him a bright smile that Dudley can’t help but reciprocate. “I’m Greg. Draco’s best man and food lover extraordinaire.”
“Dudley,” he says, shaking his hand. “Harry’s cousin, and… that’s pretty much it, really.” He looks away, feeling sheepish all of a sudden.
Reaching for a slice of Banoffee pie, Greg chuckles. “I’m sure that’s not entirely true. Everyone’s got something going on inside, even the ones of us that look the daftest on the outside.”
“You don’t look daft,” he says without thinking.
“Why, thank you.” Greg laughs properly now, a burst of bright, lovely laughter that makes Dudley’s smile widen. “Don’t tell my friends you think that, though, or you’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Consider me warned.”
He’s not quite aware of time passing, after that. They talk, and talk, and talk, and Greg takes the conversation from one topic to the next with an ease that makes Dudley forget about the people laughing and screaming and dancing around them. It’s not until a shiver shoots through him that he realises the sun has set, and he’s got nothing on him but his tuxedo jacket, which does nothing against the chill of the evening.
“When did it get so late?” he wonders aloud, rubbing his arms in search for some heat.
“Oh, are you cold?” Greg asks. “Most of us have self-regulating temperature charms on our clothes. I could probably cast one on yours, I think, but I dunno if you’d know how to end the spell afterwards…”
“No, no, there’s no need. Thank you, though.” He shivers again. Goddamn it. Why does it always get so cold so fast after sunset, even in summer?
“Here.” Wiggling in the chair where he made himself comfortable a while ago when they were too full to keep enjoying the food, Greg pulls out a grey jumper from his entirely-too-tiny-to-fit-a-jumper pocket and hands it to him. “I brought some extra clothes in case I got mine dirty.”
“Oh.” Before Dudley has time to decline the offer, Greg is pushing the jumper onto his lap, and it’s so warm to the touch he practically melts into it with a sigh of relief. “Thanks. But you really don’t need to—”
“Don’t worry about it,” Greg says, waving a hand. “You can give it back at the end of the night before you leave, or take it with you if the journey home is long and send it back through Harry whenever.”
“Thank you,” he says again, and puts it on before he has time to think too hard about exactly how weird this is. A moment later, though, all thoughts are gone from his mind except for the deep warmth filling him all the way to the core. “Oh.”
“Cool, isn’t it?” Greg smirks.
“It’s like a gentle hug to my very soul,” Dudley sighs, closing his eyes. When he opens them again, Greg is grinning at him, eyes shining with mirth. And maybe it’s the jumper’s magic playing with his mind, maybe it’s the softly-hued twilight sky and the fairy lights all around them casting light and shadow in just the right places, but Dudley’s heart skips a beat at the sight of that smile, unbidden.
“You look so happy I’m considering just letting you keep it!” Greg giggles.
“I feel so happy I’m considering taking you up on that offer,” he says, far more softly than he intended.
Just then, a big group of redheads nearby announce their departure, and the mood of the night quickly shifts as everyone silently decides it’s time for them to leave, too, and starts looking for scattered children and belongings.
He looks back at Greg, uncertain.
“I’m serious,” Greg says, then, as though reading his mind. He stands up. “Keep it. You can send it back through Harry when the spell wears off. Or, you know what—” He produces a quill—a quill, for God’s sake—from his pocket and scribbles something on a napkin. “Just send it here. Or come over and bring it in person, if you’d rather. Although I must warn you—there’s always some homemade dessert or the other lying around in my kitchen.”
“How’s that a warning?” Dudley asks faintly, not entirely sure he should be reading into the address scratched on a napkin, into the invitation, as much as he currently is.
“Well,” Greg says, grinning in a way that makes Dudley’s misbehaving heart skip another beat, “if you have enough of a sweet tooth you might never want to leave.”