Overview: This is a set of random one-shots themed around Tom and Harry. Will be updated sporadically. (Like much else.)
Each will be labelled accordingly.

Prompt: The Deal. Young Harry discovers Tom's locket at an antique store and a deal is struck.
Warnings: None in this prompt. Un'beta'd!
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction, written because I can't stop myself one an idea strikes. Hopefully you'll like it.
Main pairings: None.

Notes: This was actually a challenge I set my sister wherein she was to roleplay a fairly intelligent six year-old Harry while I played Tom. I set the scene, gave her the very basic information and then set her loose while then "manipulating" where I wanted her to go while in character as Tom. We wrote this just after I started on Game of Thrones but only recently got around to finishing off. I've had this posted on AO3 for a bit but forgot to upload it on here. How do you think we went?

This was a change for me but one I found great pleasure in writing.

-x&x-

The Deal

-x&x-

"Look Blattaria," Harry exclaimed, proudly, revealing the locket to his cockroach friend that was visiting him. "I found this today while I was out with Aunt Petunia."

The insect stood frozen on the wall, as if he or she was listening to him. The little boy nodded and shifted his attention back to the golden trinket in his hands.

He still felt odd about how he'd come to possess it; having absolutely no recollection of how it had gotten into his pocket. However, there was nothing to be done about it. He couldn't take it back; Aunt Petunia would accuse him of stealing it, as would the shop owner, he imagined. Beside there was something about the pendant that made him want to hide it, to keep it for himself.

It seemed unusually out of place in the antique store—for if not in the possession of an owner, where else might it belong but a place where it would, indeed, find someone to claim it?—not that he felt it in a better place, hidden away from the world in his tiny little cupboard. Still, at least with him it had a home.

That's all it needs, he decided inwardly with a small smile. A home.

His fingers dug into the sides of the locket, tugged and pulled, fingers slipping as he tried to open it. It didn't work. Just as it hadn't worked the first time he'd attempted. No problem, he was nothing if not determined to see it opened.

He huffed and cast his companion, Blattaria the cockroach, a look.

"I just can't seem to open it, though."

Blattaria's little antennae gave a twitch.

He wondered what that meant, but imagined it was a gesture of encouragement.

"I have something that may help though," he divulged, a huge grin spread across his face and with a clumsy flourish, withdrew the knife he'd liberated from the kitchen sink earlier that evening. It glinted in the dim, almost nonexistent light that spilled in beneath his cupboard door.

I feel a little like a pirate, he thought in some amusement, hiding my treasure from the world.

Slipping the very tip of the knife into the gap that separated the two halves of the locket, he twisted the blade and tried to prise the two locket pieces apart.

It was tricky and slippery and the blade slid, almost cutting him.

The boy tried again, determined. This time, the knife went flying from his grasp. It clattered to the ground.

Harry froze, then blindly reached for the knife, stuffed it into a small hole in the wall—beneath a shelf filled with some of his family's discarded things—shoved the locket into the back pocket of his trousers and threw himself upon his small cot where he held his breath, listening for the telltale thuds of someone coming to investigate the noise.

Several minutes past.

No one came.

He released a sigh he hadn't been aware he was holding and shuffled into a sitting position, legs crossed beneath him.

With more caution, he reached for the trinket again.

"Why won't you open?" Harry murmured to the locket, his face growing hot in frustration as he scowled down at the necklace, clenched hand trembling around it.

Click.

It opened.

Suddenly, the upper torso of a boy appeared within one of the locket's halves. He had thin lips, high, hollowed cheeks though peculiarly colourless—all black and white and grey, like an old photograph—and looked perhaps triple Harry's own age. He was frowning.

With a muffled shriek, Harry dropped the locket. It fell with a muted plop onto his cot where he stared at it, wide-eyed and slack jawed.

He'd often heard about ghosts and things—mostly, just second hand information from his cousin, Dudley and his equally dim-witted friends—but that had seemed pretty far-fetched at the time. Like why would a ghost haunt a toilet? It seemed senseless to him. Were he a spirit, he'd travel the world; not limit his experiences to a single object, person or location.

He'd looked the subject up at the school library, of course, but that was scarcely better and now this. Part of him had to wonder if this was even truly happening. Maybe he had hit his head and this was some fanciful illusion or dream?

"Who are you and how did you come by my locket?" the washed-out locket boy demanded.

His impatience certainly seemed real enough to the younger of the pair.

He's not very friendly, Harry couldn't help but think. "Oh…" He floundered, still taken aback by the seemingly annoyed and scarily real apparition before him. "Err, I found your pendant in my pocket."

The other looked suspicious.

"Come now, it must have been somewhere before you discovered it in your pocket," the elder remarked, dark eyes narrowed. "And you still haven't given me your name. You must."

"Oh sorry," Harry mumbled, no more startled by the intensity of the other's words—the ringing command that compelled him to reply and as hastily as he could—than by the other's probing stare; those deep, grey eyes razor sharp and focused on him. It made him feel like a bug beneath a microscope, even as the intensity dimmed somewhat. "I'm Harry," he added, swiftly. "Harry Potter and... I saw your locket in a shop that sells antiques and things."

The stranger's face grew dark for a moment, then smoothed out.

"An antique store, you claim?" He considered Harry thoughtfully for a moment.

The child swallowed and drew himself up, not enjoying the feeling of being looked down upon, nor particularly pleased by the boy's biting tone of voice. Harry hadn't done anything to this... ghost? Illusion? Then again, if the locket did belong to this strange boy perhaps he thought Harry a thief.

He frowned, maybe he was a thief? After all, he couldn't recall how the pendant had gotten into his pocket and he was fairly certain it couldn't have put itself in there.

Then again, he concluded, eyeing the other male in the locket, strange boys don't dwell within jewellery, either.

"Yes."

The stranger was silent for several moments, his eyes still fixed on Harry as though to determine the truth of his words, then inclined his head, apparently satisfied he wasn't lying. Although Harry had to wonder, exactly what this stranger thought he was lying about.

"Are you going to tell me your name?" Harry prompted, somewhat impatient but mostly curious and of course, guarded. "You say the locket is yours but how could it possibly belong to you?" He paused and eyed the other carefully. "I mean," he backtracked, "you must be a ghost. How else are you in a locket and talking to me like this?"

Again the other's eyes flickered.

"I suppose it has been awfully impolite of me," said the boy, offering a charming smile, one Harry couldn't help but think seemed horribly insincere. "My name is Tom Marvolo Riddle and the locket you've opened belongs to me; so I'm surprised as to how you came by it since I was certain I left it somewhere safe."

"So what are you? And why do you live in the locket?" Harry questioned, feeling very confused.

Tom seemed to consider him a moment. "I'm what you might call a remnant," he replied, offhandedly.

"So... you are like, a memory?" Harry questioned slowly, still utterly perplexed.

"I was unaware that the Potters were Parselmouths," said Riddle, instead.

Harry blinked at the non sequitur then his heart thudded wildly, flooding with something like hope and fear. This boy, this Tom Riddle, knew his family? And what was it about this Parselmouth business? It was the first time he'd heard that name before, admittedly, it was also the first time he'd conversed with a moving image held within a locket.

"Um Tom," he began guardedly, feeling a little awkward. "May I call you that?"

Tom's manner chilled faintly despite the tiny smile that lingered about his features, he gave a tight nod. "You may."

Encouraged, Harry ploughed on. "You knew my family? And what is a Parselmouth?"

Charcoal eyes flashed in... surprise? Confusion? Then turned shrewd and critical, followed by dismissive and amused.

"A Parselmouth is one with the ability of Parseltongue: The gift to speak with serpents," the older boy explained at length, tone sharp and proud and condescending all at once. His head cocked to the side, reminding the younger briefly of a predatory bird. "How is it that you're unaware of this ability? It's a rare gift. Surely your parents must have told you this at some point."

"My parents... died is a car accident," Harry answered, softly, eyes downcast. "And how do you know I can talk to snakes? Have you been watching me?" His eyes flicked up, filled with suspicion.

"How unfortunate," Riddle said, quietly now and seemed to take a step back. If a bodiless entity could indeed step backwards. "I, too, am without parents. But surely you've family who've informed you?"

That made Harry pause a moment in something that sparked a familiar pang of loss. It was strange, how this knowledge made him feel. This boy had also lost his parents. A feeling of something that seemed similar but not quite like that of kindred spirits settled over him.

"They... That is, my Aunt and Uncle, they don't know," the boy replied solemnly before steeling himself to make eye contact with Tom.

"You still haven't answered my question: How do you know that I can speak with snakes?"

Annoyance flashed across the elder's face for a second and then it was gone, replaced with casual curiosity. "I take it you are not particularly close with your family, then? A gift such as that isn't one to be kept secret... unless there is another reason for you hiding such talents..."

"No my Aunt and Uncle don't like anything like that. They don't believe in ghosts or anything to do with magic. They have told me it is complete nonsense."

Tom's face darkened. "They don't like anything magic, you say? What are they, squibs?"

Harry's nose wrinkled and he buried his hands in his oversized trousers. "No," he supplied. "They don't believe in magic and refuse to even say the word." His brows furrowed. "They call it freakish," he all but whispered, mind wandering back to the few times he could have sworn... sworn that—

"What is a squib?" He queried, abruptly.

"Not real..." the other boy exhaled, eyes narrowing suddenly, looking contemplative and disgusted all at once. "They don't believe in magic and yet, they don't like it and call it 'freakish' how curious."

His gaze focused on Harry, sharp and intense.

"A Squib is a person born of magical lineage with no magic of their own. You live with those that know of magic but prefer to pretend otherwise...

"You claimed to be living with your Aunt and Uncle?"

"Magic isn't real," Harry refuted doubtfully, beginning to truly question the possibility. Even if Tom turned out to be a ghost, wasn't that even a kind of magic if not the type that one saw on the telly?

"I'm living with my mother's sister, her husband and their son," he added, slowly. "And if you're just a memory... how is it I can talk to you and see you?"

"A half-blood then," Tom said. It sounded more like he was talking to himself. "And magic is very real," he responded. "How else would you speak with snakes? That certainly isn't normal. How else could you speak with me were it not real? Last I checked, Muggles didn't have talking pictures in lockets."

Harry blinked, paused, considered. "Talking pictures?" He ventured, studying the other boy that was apparently a talking picture. He supposed the other was, indeed, a picture. Of a sort. Wasn't he?

"What do you mean talking pictures? and a Muggle is what, may I ask?" he frowned then, annoyance surging briefly. "And you have avoided my question once again."

The corner of Tom's lips twitched faintly upwards. "I'm referring to myself, of course," he murmured, almost sounding bored save for the clear interest in his eyes. "As I am certainly a picture, am I not? And am I not also conversing with you now?"

Harry couldn't help but think that the other was sounding really rather vexed.

"And while I am a picture I am also a remnant or a... memory, as you put it. As for Muggles," he hesitated, "they are human's born without magic. Different from that of a Squib as there is no magical ancestry."

He paused a moment, eyeing the younger boy. "As you know nothing of the magical world," he went on, "you were orphaned young, then. Just how old are you?"

"I'm 6," the child stated slowly, his mind more focused on the question he was forming. He just hoped that Tom would answer it, the teen wasn't exactly forthcoming with a great many answers and Harry had lost count of all the questions he had asked let alone the ones that had remained unanswered.

"Magic is... Is real?" he queried, hardly daring to belief. But then it had to be true. It just had to! Still... "Prove it then!"

Tom's eyes flickered as his expression shifted into one Harry couldn't quite decipher.

"Why need I prove anything?" the elder boy asked, softly, countenance dark. "Can you not already see that our conversation in itself already defies the Muggle natural law of science? Or is it common place for your to speak with objects that should remain otherwise inanimate? Not to mention your ability to converse with snakes," he concluded and Harry couldn't help but think he was being mocked.

"Well... I speak to many things," the smaller boy scowled a little at the other, feeling largely offended. "Plus this could just be a dream, I do have very vivid dreams sometimes."

Tom's head tilted back the opposite way and his mouth twisted into an indulgent sort of half smile.

"I suppose this could all be a dream..." he conceded, with a dark humour. "And I suppose, too, that you often have dreams of speaking with snakes? They are a symbol of immortality in different cultures, you know, serpents. Beings of reincarnation and guardians of the underworld. In Norse mythology the earth, Midgard, was guarded by a giant snake."

"So say magic is real and you are real... why is it I am talking to you?" Green eyes narrowed, suspicious. "Do you want something?"

"It was you whom opened my locket," Tom pointed out, casually. "It appears entirely accidental on your part, however. Regardless, I believe I may be able to offer you some assistance in terms of magical knowledge—as you've clearly been deprived—in exchange, of course, for something you can give easily. Do we have an accord?"

Harry considered his words.

"What is it you want? I have two pounds and some sweets of Dudley's I snuck out of the kitchen, if that's what you're after?"

"Material possessions are hardly useful for one such as myself," the other boy explained, patiently. "However, an hour or more of your time every day would suffice. I have been alone in here for an unknown period of time and based upon what I've gathered from yourself I imagine it to have been a good few decades..."

He trailed off, looking for a moment, lost.

"Is that all?" Harry's brows furrowed. Tom had been in his locket for years? And by the sounds of things, he didn't have anyone else to talk to in all those long years, either. He must have been terribly lonely, trapped in there by himself.

"Well," he accepted. "I suppose I can do that... As long as you're not like those mortgage people with the whole fine print, it should be fine!" He gave a tentative smile.

"Is that a promise?" Tom pressed, leaning forward, a look of elation spreading across his features. "You'll speak with me for at least an hour every day? I take vows such as these very seriously, you know."

Harry hesitated, worried his lip.

"Yes, I agree," he said, quietly, pensive. "But for how long? A year? A month? And what if I'm sick and need sleep?"

"You shall speak with me for as long as I deem to ensure you are well educated on your magical lineage," the elder informed. "You do want to learn about magic, don't you? You have much to learn; much to catch up on.

"I suppose I shan't hold you accountable for upholding our agreement should you be too ill to do so." He paused, visage pensive. "Yes. That is acceptable."

"What if I don't feel like talking to you?"

Tom's face twisted from what could have been considered cautiously hopeful to unreadable in seconds.

"Then I suppose you won't mind if you start an entirely new school knowing nothing of the curriculum the rest of those that will start with you already have knowledge on," he countered, blithely. "Remember, you are severely lacking and are currently at a disadvantage to the other children that will attend Hogwarts with you when you're of age. You'll be going to school with children who've grown up surrounded by magic."

Harry's face contorted. "Hogwarts?"

Tom's dark eyes blazed suddenly, a feverish light making them glow. It reminded Harry briefly of Dudley's look when he'd spotted candy. "The best wizarding school in the world," he breathed, eyes distant and filled with longing. They flashed back to the younger, abruptly. "How else would a magical child learn more about magic? But if you'd rather flounder, then by all means..."

"No," Harry exclaimed, worried the offer had been retracted. "I wouldn't like that at all and I would really appreciate your help." He nipped at his bottom lip. "If you're still offering it!"

"Of course," Tom smiled, and Harry felt something akin to bugs crawling over his skin. He shuddered. "You'll talk to me every day for an hour at least and I'll ensure you learn everything that you need in time for attendance at Hogwarts."

The younger nodded, grimly. "It's a deal."

Concrit? Suggestions? Spot errors? Let me know.

Have any other scenarios you would like to see us RP? I'd be willing to try. But note: my sister, unlike myself, is uncomfortable with slash and while it would be interesting trying to goad her into it, it's most likely to fail.

As to my other Tom and Harry stories... I've concluded I'll get chapter three for Re-write done, finish up the heavily edited chapter of the re-written three from Game of Thrones and then I promised a dedicated reader that I'd update one of my SasuNaru fics. So I have my outline down.

Thanks for reading.