plotted starter for dudley [[@ddudleys]] - july 31st, 2016. the three broomsticks.
The Three Broomsticks was inevitably loud with the number of people gathered to remember Harry, but the mood was somber. Conversation rose and then petered out painfully, and Arthur had been swallowing back the lump in his throat all night. It was all too fresh and new.
Sometimes he could hardly process that the boy was gone, even on this second annual day held in remembrance of him. He kept expecting to see him at the table between Ron and Ginny in the Burrow for Sunday lunches, like he belonged. He had belonged. He had been their family. Arthur felt, and he thought Molly did as well, that they had lost two sons a year ago.
In the cluster of familiar wixen faces, Arthur saw an unexpected one. He almost didn’t process who it was for a moment. Dudley Dursley--some of Harry’s only living biological family. Arthur knew he had made the startling move of joining the Ministry when the dust settled after the Battle of Hogwarts, but Arthur had only just moved back to Muggle Artefacts. Thus, to this point, they had encountered each other neither professionally nor personally, not since the last time Arthur had been at the Dursleys’ home. That felt like a lifetime away, but he could still remember Harry’s eyes.
Arthur said something to the effect of needing another pint and then moved through the crowds slowly, coming to a stop before him.
“I see you made it out here,” he said after a moment. There were posters of Harry up on the walls, and the streets outside were still packed. “It’s not just about his fame or his--his great deeds,” he said suddenly. “A lot of people loved your cousin very much.” Realizing that sounded pointed, and that Dudley was likely here to mourn, too, he cleared his throat. “You must...miss him.” He must, even if they weren’t so close. They had been raised in one house together; they should have been like brothers.