A/N:

musical theatre brain rot struck me again recently. who knows when i'll update again, but i attempt to finish this story, as one does

this chapter is dedicated to trello, who i promised it to ages and ages ago.

Chapter 7: Breaking Through

When Harry arrived at school the following morning, Tom was waiting next to his locker. Seeing him made Harry's heart flip in an odd way. They had not seen each other since parting ways yesterday morning. Since Bellatrix.

"Tomorrow I'll come pick you up," Tom said in greeting. He unfolded his arms and shifted back a spot so Harry could open his locker up.

Harry spun his lock combination, wrenched the lock off, and pulled his history textbook from the bottom shelf of his locker. "You have a car?"

The left side of Tom's mouth quirked up. "I have a motorbike."

Aunt Petunia would hate that. She thought all bikers were unemployed hooligans. "Sure," Harry said, smiling. "That would be really nice, thanks." Better to deal with his aunt's outdated opinions about motorbikes than worry about Dudley running him over in the driveway.

"You're welcome."

Harry felt self conscious as he gathered a few more items for his bag. Tom's eyes followed his every movement. When Harry finally shut his locker, Tom slid forward to fill the gap where the open door had been.

"People are holding out for a half day," Tom said idly.

"A half day?" Harry asked. "Why?"

Tom's face was impassive as he said, "Grief."

The word hit hard. Grief. Because Bellatrix was dead.

Harry struggled to reconcile the two concepts: grief and Bellatrix's death. He felt guilty, but he didn't... he wasn't sad. Was he? He wasn't sad. Bellatrix had been a terrible person. She had hurt people for fun. Harry was sorry that he had killed her, but he was not sad that she was gone.

"Her suicide note made quite the impression," Tom continued lightly. There was an undertone of amusement in the words, the subtle hum of something sinister beneath the surface. "Umbridge has been forcing everyone to talk about their feelings in English class."

Harry felt sick. "That's—" He inhaled a shaky breath. His lungs felt like lead weights in his chest. "Fuck."

"We could ditch if you like." Tom laid a hand on Harry's shoulder, squeezing down once before he pulled back and smiled. "I haven't gotten to pay for your Slurpee yet."

"I'll get in trouble if we ditch," Harry said. It wouldn't work out. "They'll call my house." He could not afford to have his aunt and uncle mad at him when everything else was so—was so insane and unpredictable.

Tom shrugged. "Then don't go home. Come to mine. My father's hardly there. He won't notice if you're around more often than you should be."

Harry shook his head. "It wouldn't work. They'd come looking for me, and I don't have a lot of friends." Neville probably wouldn't say anything, but Narcissa and Andromeda would certainly guess where Harry had gone.

"Then we'll go to class together," Tom said firmly.

"You don't have English with me," Harry said. He stuffed his hands into his pockets. "Really, it's fine. It's just for the one day. I can handle it."

Tom sighed. "If you say so. But if you change your mind, we can leave during lunch."

Harry nodded. He wouldn't take Tom up on the offer, but he appreciated it all the same. "Thanks, Tom."

"Of course." Tom glanced around at the hallway, which was now practically deserted, then dipped his head to brush a quick kiss to Harry's cheek. "I'll see you later."

"See you later," Harry said softly.

Once Harry was halfway down the hall to his biology class, he lifted a hand to his face. His skin was uncomfortably warm to the touch. God. He hadn't known that dating someone could result in such embarrassing reactions, but it also felt really nice.

Morning classes passed in a haze of anxiety and awkward moments. Harry kept to himself and kept his head down. His mishap at the party was not mentioned even once; the entire school was far too worked up over Bellatrix's suicide. Although Bellatrix was dead, she remained the school's singular topic of conversation.

Thankfully, neither Andromeda nor Narcissa were at school. Harry couldn't handle talking to either of them right now. He kept to himself as much as possible and avoided Neville in the classes they shared together. Bellatrix's death did not absolve Harry of his past mistakes. He would not forget the look of hurt and disappointment on Neville's face any time soon.

When lunch hour rolled around, Harry was once again feeling sick to his stomach. He wanted to see Tom and hopefully ease his anxieties before English class.

Harry filled his lunch tray with some bland foods and went to the far corner where Tom usually sat on his own. Since the Black sisters weren't here, their lunch table was completely empty. The fact that no one had tried to sit there spoke volumes. Even in death, Bellatrix invoked a measure of obedience.

Tom came in a few minutes later. He snatched up some single items from the lunch line then sat down next to Harry.

"How was class?" Tom asked as he tore open the straw packet for his juice box.

Terrible. "It was fine," Harry said. He peeled open the cup of applesauce he'd gotten and prodded at the lumpy mass with his spoon. "I heard they might let us out early after all." Harry could only pray it happened before English.

"No last period," Tom agreed.

"Did you have English yet?" Harry asked, trying to mask his nerves by occupying himself with his food.

"Not one of my classes today," Tom said idly. He picked up his apple and began examining it. "I'm actually looking forward to it. I think it'll be funny."

"Funny?" Harry demanded, jerking upright. "What about any of this is funny?"

Tom scoffed and set his apple down on Harry's tray. "Haven't you heard the things people have been saying?"

"They're saying she was—was strung up from her ceiling fan?" Harry snapped. The nausea was returning, churning his insides something awful. "That isn't funny, Tom."

"Not that." Tom waved a lazy hand. "Everyone's talking about how sad and misunderstood she was. Your cousin has been going around telling everyone that she was too depressed to agree to a date with him, if you can believe it." He laughed a little. When he caught sight of Harry's half-panicked expression, however, he sobered. "Honestly, Harry, it isn't so dire."

Harry wished he could erase everything and start over. "Someone," he whispered harshly, "is dead because of me—"

"Because of us," Tom corrected.

"—and you think it isn't dire?" Harry finished, fuming.

"No one suspects us of anything, so yes, I do think everything is fine," Tom said, raising a brow. "Bellatrix has achieved in death what she failed to achieve in life: accolades and the adoration of her peers. She ought to be thanking us. Without that note, no one would have shed a single tear. Now people are lining up out the door to praise her."

Harry shoved his tray in Tom's direction. "I'm not hungry," he said. "You can have mine."

"We can still leave if you want. There's enough time for us to reach the lot before the lunch monitors notice we're gone."

"I'm going to class early," Harry said. Then, because he didn't want to leave it on a sour note, he added, "I'll see you after."

"You'll understand what I mean once you have English class," Tom said sagely. "Umbridge has delusions of being the school's on-site psychologist. Suffice to say if she was your school counselor, Bellatrix Black wouldn't be the only student committing suicide."

Harry flinched at the word 'suicide'. "What's the matter with you?" Harry demanded. "Stop joking about this."

"Humour is an excellent coping mechanism." Tom snatched up Harry's cup of applesauce and lifted a spoonful to his mouth. "This is disgusting," he said, swallowing. He eyed the cup with distaste. "Do they normally feed these to students?"

"Tom."

Tom sighed and set the cup down on the lunch tray. "I'm only trying to cheer you up, Harry. I don't mean to upset you. If you go around acting like you've murdered someone…"

Then they would suspect he had. Harry frowned and glanced around the cafeteria. No one was looking at them, but that was because the room was stuffed full of students. However, his English class would be a cozy group of thirty. He would need to keep his wits about him.

"Okay," Harry said. There was so much tension coiled in his body he felt he could sprint a marathon and not run out of energy. Either that or he would puke it all up.

Tom gave Harry's hand a light pat. "We'll spend time together after school," Tom said meaningfully. "And if your cousin tries to bother you now that Bellatrix is gone, I'll handle him."

Tom's words had an edge to them that made Harry uneasy, but he also felt better knowing that if Dudley did come after him, Tom would be by his side when it happened.

"So long as handling him doesn't mean more drain cleaner," Harry said, trying to crack a joke.

Tom laughed. "That's the spirit," he said softly. "I'll see you later."

Later. Harry let that thought buoy him as he left the room. Later,

"I am aware and deeply saddened by the unfortunate departure of Miss Black," Umbridge spoke from the front of the classroom. Her outfit, all pink from head to toe, was an eyesore. "I understand it has been greatly upsetting for many of you, and I wish to use this time to reflect on the importance of sympathy! And kindness!"

Someone in the front row coughed. It sounded like a muffled snicker, but Harry couldn't be sure.

Umbridge's sickly-sweet smile widened further. "To help us all, I've made photocopies of Miss Black's suicide note! Please pass these around—"

Harry could recite the note from memory. He'd spent hours agonizing over it, replaying the mockery of Bellatrix in his head, wondering if it would hold up. Wondering if the police would come calling.

"After you are finished reading, I would like us to go around the room and share any thoughts or feelings you may have." She paused to offer what appeared to be a sympathetic expression. "Consider this an opportunity to connect and feel. A safe space for all of us to open up and share our emotions."

Harry shrunk down in his seat. This was going to be an hour and fifteen minutes of pure torture.

"And if anyone needs to speak with me privately, please feel free to see me during lunch or after class. I am here for you all!"

Harry tried very hard to tune out the rest of the conversation. He was successful until Umbridge insisted that people read parts of the letter aloud.

The contents of Harry's stomach churned. He didn't dare make eye contact with anyone. Umbridge insisted on reading the final section of the letter herself, with what Harry could only describe as a sort of sadistic glee.

Thankfully, the conclusion of the day's 'lesson' was interrupted with the announcement that classes were cancelled for the rest of the day.

The bell rang, and Harry shot out of his seat, eager to escape the classroom. He took long strides toward the door and didn't stop until he was outside. When he did, he saw that Tom was there waiting for him.

Tom straightened from his slouch against the side of the building. "How was class?"

"Fine," Harry lied. He could feel a lump forming in his throat.

"You don't look fine."

The words were so blunt and unexpected that Harry had no response other than to stare.

Tom sighed. "Sorry. I shouldn't have said anything."

"No, it's okay," Harry said quickly. He needed to say something. He needed to keep talking. "It's just… I don't know. I don't know what I expected."

Tom examined him for a long moment. "Let's go," he said, taking Harry by the elbow and dragging him away from the school.

"I should go home," Harry said numbly, though he did nothing to stop Tom as they entered the lot and made their way over to what could only be Tom's motorbike.

"They let us out early, and I'll have you back before dinner. Don't you trust me?"

Harry looked at the bike. "Maybe it's that I don't trust."

"Get on," Tom said as he swung a leg over the bike and settled in the seat. He patted the space behind him. "I promise I'll keep you safe."

Harry hesitated for a moment, then got on. The seat was warm from the sun, and Harry settled against Tom's back, holding on tight as they began to move. He tried to focus on the feel of the wind in his face and the warmth of Tom's body, but all he could think about was Bellatrix's dead body.

"What do you think will happen?" Harry asked. It did feel a bit easier to talk about it like this, when he couldn't see Tom's face. When he didn't have to worry what Tom thought of him.

"I don't know," Tom replied. "But it doesn't matter. It was the right thing to do."

Harry was silent for a moment before he spoke again. "Do you really think that?"

"Yes," Tom said firmly. "She made people's lives miserable and deserved to die for it."

Harry wanted to argue, but he couldn't find the words. It was true, what Tom had said. Bellatrix had been a monster. But Harry couldn't help but feel that killing her had made him a monster, too.

The Gaunt driveway was not empty when Tom pulled his bike into the driveway. Harry, who had never imagined visiting this house through the proper avenues, felt a strange sense of wonder pass over him. This house had been off limits for as long as Harry could remember, and now he was being welcomed in.

"Great," Tom muttered under his breath, glaring at the flashy-sports car next to them. "Let's take the side door."

Harry said nothing as they approached the house and made their way to the left side, but he noticed Tom's stance stiffen as he unlocked the door and peered into the empty laundry room.

"You okay?" Harry asked.

Tom nodded without looking at him and gestured for them to head inside. They brushed past the clothes hanging over the wire racks, and then Harry followed Tom into the kitchen. Tom took out a couple of glasses, and then a carton of orange juice from the fridge.

"Let me have those," Harry said, reaching for the glasses.

"We'll take them upstairs," Tom said, handing them over. "But let me find us something to eat."

Tom rifled through the nearby cupboards and nearly smashed his head into the counter when the sound of heavy footsteps came thudding down the nearby stairs.

"Tommy," called a deep, booming voice, "is that you?"

Tom seemed frozen in place as his father appeared in the doorway. Harry, who had been leaning against the counter, straightened up.

Mr Riddle was a tall, broad-shouldered man with slicked-back hair. He wore a suit that looked like it had been cut from the finest fabric, and the heavy gold rings on his fingers shone as he reached out to clasp Tom's shoulder.

"Who's your friend?" Mr Riddle asked, smiling at Harry.

"This is Harry," Tom said stiffly.

Tom's father stepped forward, and for a moment, Harry thought the man was about to offer his hand to shake. Only that didn't happen. Mr Riddle slid around his son and made a beeline for the fridge.

"Can I offer you boys a drink?" he asked, pulling out a bottle of whisky.

"No, thank you," Harry said quickly. "Tom got us the orange juice."

Mr Riddle shrugged and poured himself a drink. "Suit yourselves." He leaned against the counter and took a long sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving Harry. "Come on, relax. Sit, sit."

Tom took the two glasses out of Harry's hands and filled them with juice, then pulled a couple of chairs away from the small round table. Harry followed his lead and sat down next to him.

"So, work was a real pain today," Mr Riddle began, scowling. "I was stuck in this bloody hearing all afternoon, and now I have to go back tomorrow morning because they couldn't decide on anything. Some old bastards who think they know everything."

"Yes," Tom said in a dull, flat tone, staring balefully at his father. "Some old bastards tend to do that."

If Mr Riddle picked up on the sarcasm, he didn't let it show. He continued talking about his work as he drank, and Tom eventually stopped looking at him. Harry had the feeling that Tom was used to his father's rants and didn't listen to them anymore.

Tom's father finally ran out of steam and turned to Harry again. "You his boyfriend or something?"

Harry choked on his juice. Tom put a hand on his back, but it did little to calm him down.

"No," Tom said. "Harry is just my friend."

Mr Riddle downed the rest of his drink. He put the glass down with a soft clink and left the kitchen without a second glance. Harry could hear him walking around in the hall, and then he came back into the kitchen.

"I'm off to the pub," Mr Riddle said. He was wearing a jacket now. "Don't wait up."

Harry heard the front door open and close, then finally breathed a sigh of relief. He felt his face flush as he turned to look at Tom, whose expression was wooden.

Tom stood up. "I suppose I should take you home now."

"Yeah," Harry said, pulling to his feet. "I guess." He hesitated, then reached for Tom's hand, twining their fingers together. "Tom…"

Tom leaned forward and pressed his forehead against Harry's, then wrapped both arms around him in a tight embrace. Harry hugged him back, closing his eyes and letting out a long sigh.

"He's always like that," Tom said. "Don't mind him."

Harry nodded, burrowing his face into Tom's neck. He felt Tom's fingers brush through his hair, and for a long moment it was just the two of them, standing in the kitchen and holding each other.

Eventually, Harry forced himself to pull back. "We should really go. My aunt will already be annoyed that I didn't head home straight away."

"Of course." Tom's voice was dull again; it made Harry's heart throb painfully.

"We'll see each other tomorrow," Harry promised. "It'll be alright."

Tom nodded, but his eyes didn't meet Harry's. He turned and walked out of the kitchen, and Harry followed him.

A/N:

next chapter has more murder, probably. i don't think this is my best writing, but i am trying to overthink less when i write so i can finish things