The Burden of Patience

"Anger has always been the one sentiment I have understood, and my rage has ever been my only connection, I believe, to humanity. But it would appear that since taking up residence in your body, it has diminished greatly."

Harry gaped at him. Tom's temper was diminished? What on earth was he like before?

"Five years lying dormant in your body and five more awake and trapped there seem to have...tempered my soul."

"...tempered?"

"Patience has become a necessity for me, and my faith in you is the only tool I have at my disposal. And I am nothing if not adaptable. As is befitting of Salazar Slytherin's heir."

Harry grinned, despite himself. "So you do trust me!"

"Only marginally."

Harry pouted.

"Do not sulk, it's undignified. As I was saying before your childish interruption, I have grown...patience and tolerant -" he said the words with some disgust evident in his voice "-and in this time of growing, I forgot..."

"Forgot what?"

"Toward the end of the last war, I had become caught up in the destruction and madness of the war I was waging, and...fixated on insignificant details that should not have concerned me."

"Like the prophecy."

Tom nodded. "Like the prophecy. It would appear that while I have had time to reflect on this and...evolve, my master soul has not, and the years he has spent, as he said, as a mere vapour have done nothing to temper the tempestuous anger inside him. In fact, it may be just the opposite."

"I don't understand, though...if he's the master soul, shouldn't he be more stable than the rest of you?"

"I...would have thought so."

"I don't really think it's fair, then, that he gets to be the master soul and you're stuck in a horcrux."

Tom smiled wryly. "I have relished, over the years, in demonstrating for the wizarding world just how unfair life can be. I think it would be a bit petty to start complaining about my lot in life now."

"I still think you deserve to be the one with your own body, not him."

"Your faith in me is touching," Tom said wryly. "But I fear it is misplaced. I am a piece of a soul, and you are a horcrux...that is all."

"I don't like it."

"Nobody asked for your opinion."

"That's true. So...what now? I think I've made your master soul rather cross with me. He tried to kill me, after all. Perhaps if I started next time with, 'Hi, I'm Harry Potter, your accidental horcrux'..."

Tom smirked. "That would indeed be quite the conversation opener. However, I doubt it would do much good."

"Why not?"

"Worst case, he would not listen to you, and would kill you immediately because you had somehow learned his secret. Blinding rage tends to twist rationality into something much more vague and easily manipulated by sentiment and whim."

"And, er, the best case?"

"The box, lock, and key scenario."

Harry nodded slowly, grimacing. "So what do we do, Tom? I don't want to die. And I really don't want to be locked up either."

"I think that it would be...unwise to approach him again before he has a body to...stabilize him. Perhaps then we can persuade him to see reason."

"And if we can't?"

"Lord Voldemort's survival is insured by ours, and therefore our safety must be prioritized by any means necessary."

Harry nodded slowly. "That makes sense...but Tom..."

"Yes, Harry?"

"I really don't like him. I don't like him at all."

Tom stared at him with an unreadable look on his face. "It's time for you to wake up now, Harry."

Harry crossed his arms. :I don't wanna go. It's nice and warm here. Can't I just sleep for a while?:

Tom quirked an eyebrow. :No, you lazy little snake, what do you think you've been doing for the last three days?:

:Three days!:

So that's why Tom was being so agreeable - he'd had three days to cool down.

:Indeed.:

:Then what's a few more hours?:

Tom quirked an eyebrow. :You have an old man to appease. And don't ruin this as well, or else you won't sleep again for another week, that I promise you.:

Something gold was glinting just above him - it took a moment for him to realize that it was a pair of glasses; glimmering gold and polished glass. How strange...they were just...floating there. Wait. He blinked again. Yes, they were floating in fluffy white clouds...no, that's not right. It was hair. Then suddenly he understood, as the smiling face of Albus Dumbledore swam into view above him.

"Good afternoon, Harry."

Having already been warned by Tom, Harry wasn't at all surprised to see the professor there. "Hello Professor Dumbledore. May I ask where I am?"

The old man laughed at the candidness of the question. "You, my boy, are in the hospital wing."

Harry frowned and looked around him. Sure enough, he was lying in a bed with white linen sheets...and next to him was a table piled high with what looked like half a sweet-shop and then some.

"Tokens from your friends and admirers," said Professor Dumbledore, beaming. "What happened down in the dungeons between you and Professor Quirrell is a complete secret, so, naturally, the whole school knows. I believe your friends Misters Fred and George Weasley were responsible for trying to send you a lavatory seat. No doubt they thought it would amuse you. Madam Pomfrey, however, felt it might not be very hygienic, and confiscated it."

"Oh, that's...a pity. How long have I been in here?" Harry asked curiously. It must have been a while, for all that...stuff to pile up.

"Three days."

Oh, right, Tom said something like that.

"Mr. Nott and Ms. Granger will be especially pleased to find you awake – they were both quite reluctant to leave your side. An interesting pair they made, sitting at your bedside together."

Harry smiled, but then frowned. "Sir, may I ask what happened to Professor Quirrell and the Philosopher's Stone?"

....

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