Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Arabella Figg pressed her fingers to her graying temples and squeezed her eyes shut. She had a migraine coming on – she knew she did. First the cat getting sick, then an unexpected call from her youngest daughter who had needed someone to listen to her sob about her most recent love problems, then her refrigerator had broken and –

"Mrs. Figg?"

And the boy. Little Harry Potter. Petunia had dropped him off that morning completely last minute while her screaming brat of a son whined and tugged at her skirt, demanding sweets.

She opened her eyes and wearily smiled at the child. Though he was no more than five years old, he looked much younger, he was so small – and of course the oversized clothes didn't help either. Arabella longed to give Petunia a piece of her mind.

"Yes, Harry? What is it?"

"Just… you looked ill…"

"No, dear, only tired."

"Oh. 'Kay." He nodded.

He remained standing, shuffling his small feet until she asked,

"Something else?"

"I…I finished my picture is all."

Arabella recalled handing him crayons and paper and telling him to draw something that she could put on her new refrigerator when it was delivered.

"May I see?"

Shyly, he handed the paper over.

"It's lovely," Arabella praised, looking at the squiggles and lines. "Why don't you tell me about it?"

Harry, green eyes shining, pointed to a black mark on the page.

"That's my daddy. And that," he indicated a green blob, "is Mummy. And there I am," he added proudly, pointing to a small red circle with stick arms and legs. "We're in front of the house that they're gonna buy when they come to get me."

Arabella's heart turned over, and she swallowed hard.

"Harry… your parents… they can't come and get you."

His smile faded.

"Why?"

"Well… they're…" she couldn't bring herself to say it. "They've gone to a better place, dear."

Harry's brow furrowed.

"A better place?" he repeated, and she nodded. "Is it very far from here?"

Again, she had to swallow before replying.

"Yes, Harry. They're dead, dear."

"What's dead?"

"It's when… It's when you stop breathing. You don't live on Earth anymore."

Harry frowned in apparent concentration, his black hair flopping into his eyes.

"So… so Mum and Daddy… They're gone. And they can't come back for me?"

She thought her heart would break.

"No, Harry. They can't."

"Oh." He was quiet for several minutes, and then he asked, "Can I go to them, then?"

She wouldn't cry. She wouldn't.

"No, Harry."

"Why?"

"Because… Because everyone has their own time to die. It's not yours yet. You still have to live your life. Do you understand?"

He nodded slowly, and then opened his mouth once more.

"One day, I'll go, right? One day I'll go to them?"

"That's right. When you die."

"Will they still be there?"

"I'm sure they will be. They're always watching you, Harry. They look down from where they are and they make sure you're alright."

"Always?"

"Yes, she said gently, watching him closely.

He looked around as if expecting to see Lily or James standing in the room.

"You can't see them, Harry. Only they can see you."

For a moment, he looked disappointed. But then he tilted his face back and gave a little wave.

"Hi," he said to the ceiling, and Arabella turned away.

Later that night, Arabella recalled their conversation. It had broken her heart to crush Harry's hope, but she was glad, at the very least, to have given him something in place of what she had taken away.

Maybe she hadn't handled it in the right way, but she couldn't possibly have blown the child off. She wasn't Petunia Dursley.

It was best that he understood. Best that he understood, best that he accepted it.

"So, little Harry," Arabella murmured. "That's one obstacle down, many more to go."

And that night, she didn't attempt to stop the tears that flowed down her face.

Author's Note: Yeah, not my best work. It's been done before, I know... But I felt like writing Little!Harry. So I did. Please review!