It's time you pick your battle and I promise you this is mine

Solidarity

The Winter holidays approached and Harry thought of visiting Hagrid one last time before they left for the burrow. In one of her last letters to Ron, Molly had proposed that they all came to the burrow over Christmas and that Hermione's parents were included in the invitation. So during the last Hogsmeade weekend, Harry, Ron and Hermione looked for presents they hadn't considered needing to buy presents for, leading to Harry suggesting they also bought something for Hagrid.

Hogsmeade was recovering and Harry was honestly surprised by the great difference he could already make out, although he supposed that most of the change in air was due to the students flooding the shops and streets who were intent on enjoying themselves and being happy during their trip. Still, fewer shops were open than used to and Harry had problems finding something he was satisfied with. In the end, he decided for a toy for Fang that Harry was sure Hagrid would appreciate and left Hermione and Ron to go on their date. They were meant to meet him again in the evening to go to Hagrid but Harry thought it would not hurt him to go there beforehand and spend the time waiting for his friends already with Hagrid.

After taking a detour to bring the other gifts to his dormitory, Harry arrived at Hagrid's hut and knocked. The half-giant did not answer and neither did his dog which led Harry to believe the two were somewhere about the Hogwarts grounds. Having nothing else to do (besides that one herbology text that he can just as well write over the holidays), Harry decided to look for them. And if whatever Hagrid was giving his time to was not something as curious as the Blast-Ended Skrewts, Harry might even offer to help him.

Setting off towards the Hippogriff enclosure (which Harry thought was as good a guess as to Hagrid's whereabout as everything else), Harry took in his surroundings. He walked much more slowly than he normally would because it had just occurred to him that the last time he had walked as far as he was planning to into the Hogwarts grounds, he had been walking to his death. He would not enter the Forbidden Forest but still – ever since being back at Hogwarts for his last school year, Harry had not been farther into the Hogwarts ground than to Hagrid's hut.

Harry was thinking of that moment again, that moment he stepped into the Forbidden Forest, in search of Voldemort. And his brain, helpfully, provided him with the picture of Voldemort waiting there, amongst his followers, to kill the boy who lived, to kill him. He thought of the people around him, the Carroway siblings and what they had inflicted on his friends and classmates, Bellatrix carving "mudblood" into Hermione's arm at Malfoy's mansion, killing Sirius, Dobby, Tonks. Harry's breath hitched, before fastening. His throat felt tight, like with every breath less oxygen would flow into his lungs. They died for you, a small voice told him in the back of his head. They wanted to help you and they died. When he started to shake, his hands searched for something he could steady himself against. His head stayed with the people that died. That were close to him. He stumbled forward until he found a wall he could lean against. They would not have been at the forefront of this war if they had not been close to him. He slid down and laid his head on his knees.

He had thought he was over it. These thoughts had been prominent in his head while he was still fighting Voldemort. While he could keep more people from dying. But it's done now. Harry tried to slow his breathing down, failing miserably. These thoughts still come back. He knows that it's Voldemort's fault, that Voldemort killed all those people, or his followers did. That had Voldemort not marked him as his equal in his childhood, everybody he knew would not have been in danger. At least not as imminent. But then it came back to him and he couldn't handle it. He tried to remember how he made it go away last time. Right. It's Voldemorts fault. It's Voldemort's fault. its voldemorts fault...

His heart slowed down and his breath became steadier. He stayed like this a few minutes, his head on his knees, or he would have if his slowing breath hadn't made him tune into his other senses again. He heard a noise, and when he was finally able to identify that noise, suppressed sobs, he looked up and turned his head towards it. A few metres away from him, another figure caught his eye. Crouched down against the wall in a similar pose to himself, he recognised that pale blond hair covering the other boy's head.