A/N: I'm a little rusty on my Harry Potter, so forgive me if there are any inconsistencies. Thanks, and I hope you enjoy!
It had been a church this time.
A Sunday morning service. Families with young children. Old couples quietly reflecting on their lives, contemplating what would come next. Young people in need of community. Strangers bonded by these shared beliefs.
An entire congregation full of Muggles.
Benjamin Riddick sighed, watching the Muggle police, who were, as always, completely oblivious to their presence, try to conjure some explanation for this tragedy. He felt bad for them, in a way. How couldn't you pity a group so reviled and so unaware of it?
Mad-Eye was riffling through some rubble, deftly levitating chunks of wood and concrete, still nursing that hope, after all these jaded years, that there might be survivors.
But there never were. Not when the attack was carried out by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named himself.
"Find anything?" Benjamin asked, despite himself.
"'Course not," Mad-Eye grunted. "Nuthin' but residual curses and charred outlines of vaporized corpses."
"No need to be so respectful," Kingsley sighed. "These weren't, you know, people or anything."
"Talk like that would get you a swift curse from Dumbledore," Mad-Eye said. "Even if it's dripping with sarcasm."
"What's the news from him, anyway?" Benjamin asked.
"Nuthin' yet. He's still dealing with the Underground disaster up at his castle fortress. It must be nice, you know, not having to be in the thick of it. Hiding away at that school."
"I don't think there's anything else we can do here," Kingsley said. "Let's leave these poor Muggles to their futility."
The trio returned to the Ministry. The one nice thing about these attacks was the mountains of paperwork that Benjamin got to hide behind once they occurred. Cause of death reports, lists of charms and curses used, and the dreaded personal report. Benjamin had nothing much to say on those anymore. He'd put his heart into the first couple, hoping that his effort and care would somehow translate into a viable solution to stop the Dark Lord, but after the seventeenth, it was easier just to finish it, file it, and forget it. He pushed through his paperwork, carefully annotating and dating each page, writing with a penmanship that was needlessly perfect. The longer this took, the better. He didn't want to see anyone today.
That didn't stop the Departmental secretary from barging in every hour, asking him when he would be done. She was the worst part about being an Auror. Never knew when to shut up and let someone grieve.
After signing and dating the last paper—Benjamin T. Riddick, 1983/4/11—Benjamin grabbed his cloak, put on his hat, and decided to drown his grief and sorrow at the bar.
Not The Leaky Cauldron. That's where all of the Ministry went after a rough day like today. Benjamin needed to go somewhere intermediary. Somewhere that would lead to a more fulfilling ultimate destination.
Today he would go to the Pink Cloak.
No one knew about his personal life and no one cared. No one watched him turn the wrong corner, no one followed him, wanting to gain evidence and blackmail him. He was quiet and kept few enemies.
He entered the bar, window outlined in floating, purple and pink flames, recognized other people from the Ministry and ignored them, as always. He'd gone home with a couple of them and found them to be just as boring in the bedroom as they were in the office. Patrick Huddington from Accidents and Catastrophes had a wheezy little sound he made at the end of each sentence which carried over to his indiscretions. Now, whenever Benjamin talked to him, all he could remember was that stupid little wheeze punctuating each tame, powerless thrust.
He buried himself in the bar, ordered a fire whiskey, and didn't plan to look up unless that particular, searching tone of voice met his ears.
"Dear Henry, could you please duplicate what this young man is having and double mine?"
Henry couldn't help but feel a pang of shock. The tone wasn't what he'd wanted, but the person to whom the voice belonged surprised him enough to look up.
"Comin' right up, Albus."
The long, spindly man sat down at the seat next to Benjamin. He made eye contact for a moment, and Benjamin looked down, humiliated or unworthy or…something. It was as if Gryffindor himself had descended from heaven and sat down next to him, a measly junior Auror.
Wait, what was Dumbledore doing in a gay bar anyway?
"Sir," Benjamin muttered, muting his voice with a vast gulp from his glass. He gestured to the barkeep for another as Dumbledore continued to watch him.
"On a day like today, I think I'd like to forgo formalities."
"What should I call you then, sir? I, uh, mean…"
"Call me by my name, young man."
Benjamin gulped. Dumbledore might as well have asked Benjamin to call his own father "Mudblood." The thought had, of course, crossed his mind on his attempted coming out, but even then Benjamin could not conjure the spite.
"Albus," Benjamin said, barely hearing his own voice, but it seemed to please Dumbledore.
"Excellent work, I can see how difficult that was for you, Benjamin."
"You know me?"
"I make it my business and pleasure to know the names of all the young men and women who risk their lives to protect us. It is, unfortunately, all I can give them."
Dumbledore took the fire whiskey in his long, delicate fingers, and took a sip, never taking his glittering, curious eyes off of Benjamin.
Either the whiskey began to work, or Dumbledore's whimsical kindness began to rub off on him, but either way, Benjamin was settling down. He and Albus drank in silence for a few minutes as Henry served a small group of dragon tamers that had just entered the bar.
"You were in the church today," Dumbledore finally said.
"Yes, I was."
"Kingsley is your mentor. That is the only reason I know. Please forgive my insatiable curiosity."
"Of course."
"Tell me what you saw there."
"Rubble."
"Not what you saw with your eyes, dear boy."
Benjamin narrowed his eyes at the old man, whose expression had not changed…but it had. It seemed to have…intensified.
"There was still the taste of fear on the air," Benjamin whispered slowly, unsure where this was coming from. "It tasted like smoke from leaves. I could still feel all the residual curses floating around. Made my joints ache."
"Yes, I understand that is an unfortunate side effect. Go on."
"A charred rosary. Some Muggle child's abandoned toy. We think He and the Death Eaters killed everyone simultaneously with the killing curse, and then burned the interior in a controlled blaze."
"That is what Kingsley's report indicated," Dumbledore sighed, finally removing his half-moon spectacles and cleaning them with the sleeve of his robe. "A new tactic; one I have been expecting for some time. Voldemort is nothing if not predictable."
Benjamin felt himself stiffen at the cavalier use of You-Know-Who's real name, but didn't have the audacity to chide Dumbledore himself for it. Instead, he did something even worse.
"You want to get out of here?"
Benjamin felt his breath abandon him, his heart began hammering in his chest. He had no idea why he had asked that. Had Dumbledore just put him under the Imperius Curse, playing his silly old-fop game of riddles and subterfuge? Or had alien courage just leapt from some unknown reserve and tackled his self-control into oblivion?
Dumbledore slowly continued to clean his glasses, finally replacing them and downing the rest of his fire whiskey in one fell gulp.
"That's all I ever want."
Dumbledore was staying at The Leaky Cauldron, so Benjamin followed him like a puppy at his master's heels. Dumbledore walked swiftly, almost floating, but seemed to keep attention away from himself. Some witches and wizards removed their hats and bowed slightly, Dumbledore only returning the slightest of nods. Benjamin felt invisible. Perhaps he was. He hadn't known Dumbledore was gay, perhaps the old man hid all of his conquests from the view of the public with some vanishing charm. It wouldn't have been a difficult thing for him. He was the greatest wizard ever, after all.
A flush of fear and desire suddenly flowed through Benjamin. The greatest wizard ever. What a night this would be.
Dumbledore politely greeted Tom, grabbed his key, and flew up the stairs like a ghost. Benjamin followed meekly, always looking behind his shoulder to see if someone was watching. Dumbledore never turned around. Never doubted himself. Always knew exactly where he was going, and exactly how to get there. Benjamin would kill for that kind of confidence.
They entered the room, and Benjamin began wringing his hat in his hands. Usually these things were very direct, uncomplicated, easy. He had no idea what to expect now.
"Please, have a seat, Benjamin."
Benjamin did as he was told. Like he was back at Hogwarts, in detention.
"Can I get you something to drink?"
"A brandy would be…or whatever you have, I'm not picky."
"Brandy it is."
Dumbledore deftly poured and handed Benjamin the glass, displaying the same confidence and suaveness. Benjamin still gripped his hat in one hand, nodding to Dumbledore, sipping quietly.
Dumbledore sat across from him, long fingers running slowly across each other in a steeple. Benjamin could hear Dumbledore's slow breath from his seat, and this time, each breath filled him with more fear and more desire, more driving, nagging, animalistic need.
It had been a horrible day, and this would be the perfect way to remedy that.
Benjamin suddenly downed his glass and threw it on the bed. He got up quickly, grabbing either side of Dumbledore's head and pressed his lips hard against their counterparts. The silky beard scratched and tickled his face. Dumbledore's kiss was strange. It was neither distant nor present, just sort of polite and minimally reciprocal. Benjamin pulled away and suddenly felt that he had made a huge mistake.
"I'm sorry," Benjamin said, backing into his chair, face flush with embarrassment. "I misread your signals. Or just invented them, I don't know. I'm sorry. This is so strange. I didn't even know you were gay."
"You have no need to apologize, Benjamin."
"Why did you even invite me here?"
"To give you what you wanted."
Benjamin paused again, expecting the expression to change from whimsy to seduction, but it didn't. He had no idea what Dumbledore wanted.
"What do you think I want, sir?"
"What we all want," Dumbledore finally whispered, rising to his feet, walking over, and grazing Benjamin's stubbly face with his hand. "You want this nightmare to be over."
Benjamin couldn't help himself and laughed a little. Dumbledore's hand did not waver, and Benjamin became serious again.
"There were 238 Muggles in that church," Benjamin whispered. "It's horrible. I don't think I care anymore. I don't think of them as people anymore, because they're not wizards. It's like they don't matter. I can forget about it. Sleep easier."
"It is that kind of thinking that advances Voldemort's position," Dumbledore said, stroking Benjamin's face deftly. "You must never forget the evil that roams our country."
"How?" Benjamin asked. "How do you deal with it?"
Dumbledore stopped stroking Benjamin's face for a moment.
"I remember that hope is not an ephemeral thing," he said. "Hope is always present, just like love, just like hate, just like fear. It is our responsibility to choose it, though it may be a difficult choice. It may require sacrifice, it may seem to cost more than we have to give. But it is within our reach, because we are surrounded by it, no matter how far away it feels."
Benjamin shook his head. "How can I believe that when He can kill 238 without the bat of an eye? He's got such a choke hold on hate and fear right now, and I don't know if I have the strength to keep holding on to love and hope. It's like hanging onto a rope in a storm at sea…I can't breathe, there's salt water in my lungs, there's fire in my eyes."
"But the rope will bring you safely to shore, Benjamin. Don't ever, ever let go."
Benjamin looked up at the old man one more time. He knew he was crying. He wasn't ashamed. Dumbledore kept smiling.
"So is this your thing?" Benjamin laughed, wiping the tears away. "You seek out lonely, troubled young men and give them a pep talk?"
"There is no pep to my talk, Benjamin," Dumbledore said, floating over to the bed and refilling the glass with the tip of his wand. "But you did seem troubled. And you did seem lonely. And I was both of those things not very long ago."
Benjamin took the glass out of politeness. He'd probably already had too much to drink.
"Now what?" He asked.
"Now we sleep. I hope you forgive me. I have to be back at Hogwarts tomorrow before sunrise, so I must leave soon. But you will stay and rest, and try to strengthen your hold on hope and love. For it is these things that I truly believe will save us very soon."
Dumbledore leaned forward and kissed Benjamin's forehead. He cried for a while longer, until he felt hollow and hard, and slept in the old man's grasp, forgetting, for a few hours, how awful a place the world had become.