Jay froze, staring dumbly at Millicent, until Tom finally had to take over, bending his head and coughing to cover the transition.

"A while," he finally said bluntly, seeing no reason to prevaricate. It was obvious that Millie had known they were there. Trying to lie now would ensure she knew they had something to hide.

"Let's get away from the crowd, shall we?" she suggested, jerking her head around at the rest of the returning students. Tom nodded, a bit grateful that she wasn't going to try and confront him in front of everyone, and he followed her lead to a small, barely-used classroom farther into the dungeons. The door closed behind him, and he had to fight a wince. It reminded him of a prison cell.

"Granger's worried about you," Millie said, tucking her hair briskly behind her ears and hopping up on a slightly dusty table. "Obviously. She's not the only one."

"What do you mean?" Tom asked. Now he was confused. Millie sighed and gave him a frank stare.

"Do you not remember passing out cold over Christmas break? Even Weasley's been concerned about you, and I didn't know it was possible for him to feel concern over anything besides missing dinner. You were in the hospital wing for days and when you finally came out, it was like you were a bloody shell of a person for ages. Not to mention, it's not like Granger was wrong in the things she's picked up on. You do act different in ways that seem a little more than your average firstie, you do flinch every time someone yells around you or drops a book, you think we don't notice? Because we do. I may not have been your friend for as long as Granger, but I notice. Only unlike her, I wanna actually talk to you about it."

Millie took a deep breath, crossing and uncrossing her legs and nearly glaring at him. Tom felt shell-shocked. It was a highly unpleasant feeling that made his stomach feel quite sick.

"I didn't know," he finally managed to say, feeling rather stupid. Of course he didn't know. That was probably the point.

"Obviously," Millie rolled her eyes. "I'm not saying this has to turn into confession hour and you have to spill all your secrets. Sod that. But you gotta admit, you aren't okay. I don't think you've been okay. I think your family treats you like shit, and the thought of going back to them at the end of the year makes you want to curl up and die in a hole. But I'm not you. I can't tell you what to do. I'm just saying. You can't hide it nearly as well as you think you can."

"You-are right," Tom admitted. He hated to be this open about their life, but what other choice did he have? Nervously, he chewed on his bottom lip, a gesture that he rarely made. Millie watched him with carefully blank eyes.

"Our relatives-our aunt and uncle-they don't like magic. They don't like me. They never have. I don't know why," he shrugged. "I suppose you could call them abusive. I'd rather face the Da-You Know Who again than see them this summer." Inwardly, Tom snorted at himself. Face the Dark Lord? Really? Not to mention the hubris of challenging who was technically yourself...but never mind that, Millie was speaking again, and he forced himself to concentrate.

"Have you talked to Snape?" she asked hesitantly. "He might be able to help..." She trailed off as his face darkened.

"Professor Snape," he said with icy courtesy, "can also sod off into a hole. Considering he'd rather try to invade my mind without my permission, scream at me, and slam me against a wall for daring to become lost. I think a Dementor would be a better choice of assistance," he sneered, unaware of how much, in that moment, he looked like Tom Riddle.

"Scratch that thought then," Millie said dryly as she hopped off the table. "I take it you have similar feelings about going to Dumbledore?"

"Indeed," Tom said, sure the look of contempt in his eyes matched the look in Millie's.

"We'll figure out something," Millie insisted. "Dunno what. But something. Now come on, Blaise and Theo were looking for you earlier."

Tom let himself be guided out of the room, both of them completely unaware of the small painting of the House Founder that sat crookedly on the opposite wall.

Salazar had heard everything.