Work Text:
They weren’t friends.
They’d agreed to a new beginning, sure. They’d agreed to put the past in the past—they were children (they were still children), and Harry had been removed from the Dursleys years ago. More than four years ago, by now.
But there was history, and history wasn’t easily forgotten. Dudley might look little like the monster of a cousin who had tormented him as a child, but little was more than nothing. He’d thinned out over the years, gotten taller, and his blue eyes had a sombre, serious edge that they’d lacked before. But his cheekbones were still Aunt Petunia’s, and his brow still made Uncle Vernon came to mind, and of course Dudley’s face was still his own, even thinner and more serious than he remembered. And Harry remembered too many incidents of being hit, or being chased and hit, or…
He didn’t like to remember. So… he didn’t.
A new beginning didn’t mean they had to be friends.
Harry was popular. That wasn’t a surprise, not entirely. He’d had his friends from before Hogwarts, Susan and Ernie and Terry and Hannah. He’d met Ron, his best friend, on the train. Hermione had come after an incident with a troll on Halloween, and he was on good terms with the rest of Gryffindor—and with the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws as well.
Dudley… well, he didn’t have enemies. He was friends with Neville, who sometimes had the same sombre look in his eyes. Susan, Ernie, and some of his friends who knew that he was Harry’s cousin and put the pieces together from stories he’d told about his past before gave him a bit of a side-eye, but they took their lead from Harry. And Harry was perfectly civil to him.
It wasn’t like he didn’t notice Dudley. He nearly always did—some animal part of his brain always tracked where his cousin was, what seat at the table, what corner in the common room, what desk in the classrooms. He didn’t go (too far) out of his way to avoid him. But he didn’t really have anything to do with Dudley, and he much preferred it that way. There were too many things going on at school anyway, between getting lost in the castle, Quidditch practices, his friends, and at the end of a long list, his classes. And Dudley just didn’t figure on that list.
It wasn’t until the sign-up lists for students staying at Hogwarts over the holidays were posted that Harry stopped.
Dudley’s name was at the top of it, in a cramped, messy scrawl.
Harry hesitated.
He didn’t want to ask. He didn’t—he didn’t want to talk to Dudley, not really. They were friendly, sometimes, but they weren’t friends. They were civil. They were polite. They got on fine. But that didn’t mean he wanted to talk to Dudley, and even if he did, it wasn’t any of his business. The Dursleys were in his past, a past he preferred to stay in the past.
But still.
Harry wrote his name down quickly, underneath the list of Weasleys, and left.
He didn’t talk to Dudley about it. They had classes. They had tests—not exams, those wouldn’t be until the end of the year, but December seemed to be a favourite time for professors to schedule tests. There was Quidditch, and snowball fights, and an end-of-term feast…
And then, the morning after the end of term, the Hogwarts Express left, and the castle was empty.
Not empty empty, but it was empty enough. It felt like the whole castle had taken a breath of air and had just exploded in size. Now, he and Ron didn’t have to look for space to sit in a crowded common room—even the good chairs, right by the fire, were empty more often than not. And all of that meant that, well, Dudley was there. He was there, his presence looming, in the dorms, common room, and even the Great Hall, where he was usually drowned out by others.
Neville had gone home, so Dudley was usually alone. Sometimes, it looked like he read books; other times, he spent time perfecting his game of Gobstones—against himself.
Harry cracked first.
“Hey,” he said, about two days into the winter break. It was early—Ron hadn’t rolled out of bed yet, but the dorms were frosty, and Harry had always been something of an early riser. Dudley was already in the common room, sitting on the floor by the fire, a pack of Exploding Snap cards laid out for solitaire in front of him. “I would have thought you wanted to go home for the break. No telly or—or video games, or anything like that here.”
Dudley didn’t look at him. The fire popped. It was a moment before he answered, as he carefully laid down another card from his hand. “Kind of rough at the moment.”
“Oh.” Harry hesitated, then he walked over to the chairs by the fire and sat down. “I see.”
He wanted to know. But he didn’t, either. He was intensely curious, but—he wasn’t too far above himself to admit that it was a vengeful, morbid curiosity. He wanted to hear about how Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon’s lives had fallen apart, how karma had come and struck them down, but he was also good enough to know that this exact feeling was why he shouldn’t ask.
“They’re getting divorced.” Dudley laid down another card, and the entire array blew up. Dudley flinched backwards, narrowly missing his eyebrows being singed. “Mum’s in council flats right now. It’s messy.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Nah.” Dudley sighed, shaking his head and flopping backwards away from the fire. “It’s fine. I know I don’t have to say anything. But we’re… it’s family, right? We’re still related. Thought you might want to know.”
“Yeah.” Harry cleared his throat. “So… would Uncle Vernon still be my uncle, then? Ex-uncle?”
Dudley shrugged. “Never been good at questions like that. He’s still my dad.”
Harry took a deep breath in, thinking about what he should say. “Okay. How are—”
“Wish he weren’t, he’s a piece of work,” Dudley grunted, and Harry didn’t know what to say to that.
He stared into the fire instead, and beside him, Dudley started gathering up his cards and setting up a new game of solitaire.
“How’s Aunt Petunia?” Harry asked, finally, reluctantly. “Is she…”
“Fine.” The cards were slapped on the floor with a little more force than necessary. “Great, actually, council flats aside. She’s taking him to court for everything, and got a job as a night auditor at a hotel on the side. Hours are crap, but you know. Good on her. It’ll work itself out. Just not great at home right now, is all. And even if I went home, it’s not like I’d see that much of her—they pay extra on holidays.”
“Yeah,” Harry said, nodding slowly. “Yeah, I can understand that. I wouldn’t see much of Amelia—my foster mum—at home either, she’s very busy.”
“Yeah. So, I might as well stay, right? Food’s good here.”
“It is.”
The fire crackled, spitting sparks into the air from a collapsing log, and Harry reached out to grab the poker and stoked it a bit. The embers shone red, as Harry nudged another piece of wood into the centre of the flames. Beside him, Dudley was still slapping down Exploding Snap cards, trying to win before the cards exploded again. He wasn’t very good it.
“You want to…” Harry sighed, running one hand through his hair. “Come sit with us sometimes? With Ron and I—I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want to. But you can, if you want. Just, you don’t have to sit alone by yourself all the time, especially when the castle is so empty.”
Dudley’s cards exploded again, and Harry jerked backwards. When the smoke cleared, Dudley was looking at him with surprise, a bit of trepidation, and a hint of hope. But when he answered, it was casual and diffident.
“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, that would be cool, I guess.”