The Hopeless(?)

A building, if it could be called as such, was what stood in front of Harry.

To be more specific, it was more of a large room, a cemented area with whitewashed walls on the four sides, and a ceiling. The wall facing the streets, the only entrance of the said room, was the only ventilation of the otherwise sealed box made up of cement.

Above the said ventilation that was the door to the room, written in large, red, letters were two words.

PUBLIC LIBRARY

It was the only library near Privet Drive, and due to a certain incident, it had swiftly become one of the two places that kept Harry safe.

Or at least delayed his inevitable plight.

While he could also go to Mrs. Figg's house, the old lady who used to babysit him in his younger years, he didn't think that with the state he was in, he could tolerate going through hundreds of pictures of her cats that he had seen hundreds of times in the past without making his displeasure known.

So, after a short trip to 4 Privet Drive to sate his thirst from the tap used for watering plants, it only took Harry about a little more than five minutes to drag himself to where he was standing now.

Perhaps it was having cool, shadowed comfort within his reach, or maybe something else entirely that gave him a sudden but welcomed bout of energy, which he used to enter the Library with a gait totally different from a few moments before.

"Good Afternoon, Sir."

He politely greeted the bespectacled middle-aged man sitting behind the counter just beside the entrance only to receive a cursory glance in response like always.

Harry didn't mind it. Mr. Wilson was a man of few words and like most adults minded his own business, which was to care for the library and all the books inside. He only had one rule; Do not damage the books. And anyone who did not follow was then banned from ever entering his turf again.

He was stubborn too. Staying firm on his decision in the face of Uncle Vernon's requests, which on prolonged denial had slowly turned into threats to make him remove the ban from Dudley and friends had driven the point straight to home for Harry.

Harry was grateful for that stubbornness though because without it he wouldn't have been able to hide from his hunters multiple times since the incident.

So, why would Harry mind only because Mr. Wilson didn't greet him back when there were other adults who had done worse to him and seem to loath his existence?

Moving past the first shelf that was filled with children's storybooks, fairy tales, and the likes, Harry made his way deeper inside the Library without even sparing them a glance.

The first time he had read one of such stories, he had been so excited, so happy, so…

...hopeful.

He didn't understand what hope meant back then, but somehow the villains in those stories seemed not any different from his Uncle inside his mind and had made him hope that someday, someone would come and defeat him similarly to how heroes defeated the villains in those stories.

A hero, a shining beacon of hope, a being who, despite the odds, saved everyone and beat the evil villains, and who made it so that everyone had a happy ending.

Harry had once hoped that one day his Hero would come too and would take him away from his relatives, that he too would have a happy ending, and he had hoped so for a long time.

Often he had even encountered people who had seemed like they could be his hero, people who had shown care for him, who had asked him if he was alright, but, after meeting his Uncle, either had joined his tormentors or had started ignoring his plight.

Needless to say, he had been left disappointed every time and had his hope broken. Then, as he had grown up, aside from cooking, gardening, cleaning, washing, studying, dodging, running, and keeping quiet when told to, he learned one immutable fact.

Heroes didn't exist outside the pages of the storybooks.

He learned that real people, in general, lacked the qualities to ever be a hero. Most of them were satisfied as long as their needs were satisfied and they were not the ones being wronged. Many had a kind heart and a desire to help others but were not brave enough to face the evildoers.

And the few brave enough lacked the power needed to make any significant changes.

This realization, along with his mounting disappointment, and slowly and agonizingly caving in hope for a happy ending had left him jaded of such aptly named fantasy storybooks.

Consequently, he had stopped reading such books and had started reading anything that caught his fancy.

Neither genre nor the number of pictures mattered to him, only his curiosity. That was how he knew the constitution of clouds, a ton of recipes, theoretical aspects of survival skills, and his school curriculum.

After all, even if he was not allowed to score better than Dudley, nobody was stopping him from learning when he could.

But, as he was too tired to feel curious, he just grabbed the first book that caught his fancy and occupied the nearest empty table in the library.

He sighed contentedly as he sat on the pleasantly cool wooden bench, leaned against the table, and opened the book he just picked.

'A Traveler's Guide to World.'

Quickly, he lost himself into the depiction of the world inside the book, taking note of every place that drew his interest, that he would love to visit sometime in the future.

Subconsciously, without his knowledge, his lips curled into an imperceptible smile at the hopeful thought.

Maybe he was so tired that he had begun daydreaming.

Or, maybe, just maybe, deep inside of him, he still had some hope left…