Work Text:
**micro fic**
Hagrid vividly remembered the day he was called to the little family house in Godrics Hollow. He vividly remembered Albus Dumbledore handing over a little bundle of something, perhaps no bigger than a bow-truckle. Hagrid was ordered to deliver the package via his motorbike in precisely four hours - it would take two hours to travel.
Dumbledore didn't let Hagrid in. "There is a sight you do not wish to see, old friend. Take the child. Clean him, feed him, reassure him, then deliver him to four Privet Drive in four hours. Minerva and I will be waiting for you."
So he did. He fed the child, a boy who looked like James and Lily - his friends, even at such a young age. He bathed the boy, the reassured him by telling him stories of Buckbeak. Sure enough, shortly, the boy fell asleep, and Hagrid made his way from Godrics Hollow, Somerset, to Little Whinging, Surrey.
Hagrid vividly remembered feeling sick as he handed the newly orphaned boy over. Dumbledore assured him that Harry, the boy's name, would be safer in the company of his mother's only relative, rather than in the wizarding world. That was the one and only time that Albus Dumbledore had been wrong.
Sixteen years later, well, fifteen years and eleven months later, Hagrid had the same heavy feeling in his heart as he carried the boy again. This time, he carried a man, not a bow-truckle-sized human. He carried a brave man, one who was arguably too brave for his own good. At least Voldemort was merciful enough to let Hagrid carry Harry one final time.
Deep down, Hagrid knew it wasn't because Voldemort was good or kind - it was a show of how much power he now held.
Hagrid held Harry's body tightly as they walked across Hogwarts bridge - and he didn't let him go.