Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. All I own is Robert, Owen, the so-called "plot" and the other people you don't recognize.
Chapter 1: Up high
"I hate Harry Potter."
Robert Wyndham had uttered these words in the presence of Harry himself. He did so, purposely and casually. The irritating thing was that he barely acknowledged Harry's presence which was clear as the blue sky above him. Stretching like a cat, Robert yawned and noted the vivid bits of blue peeking through the spaces between leaves. Contemplating about the wonders of nature interested him more than having anything to do with Harry Potter. Anything was better than Harry Potter. The roughness of bark, the sunlight dappling his arms, even the bird poo on the branch to his right was of greater interest than Harry Potter.
He closed his eyes and let his spirit wander, ignoring Harry's protests below him. Robert was in his tree, HIS tree. No one else's. In that tree he was above everyone else, shielded from the sun or rain, so far away from it all. His tree was a young oak, sturdy and quite high. Everyone knew this, and knew Robert was not like everyone else. Odd Robert in his tree could care less about anyone.
Especially Harry Potter.
"Don't mind him Harry," Owen Marx told Harry apologetically, "and thank for the buttons."
Harry nodded at the tall, fair seventh-year before him and glared at the dark-haired one up in the tree. Clutching his box of pins, he walked towards a group of Ravenclaw third years. Greatly miffed as he was, Harry was soon to forget about Robert's rudeness. A lot of people were getting really hard to get along with, and Robert Wyndham wasn't anything in Harry Potter's life.
Sitting back on the base of the oak's trunk, Owen Marx raised his voice a little for his friend to hear. In the calmest of speech, as was his manner, he admonished Robert on his discourteousness.
"The bloke was being forced to pass around buttons to complete strangers. I don't think you could've given him a harder time."
"I hate him Owen. It doesn't kill me that I caused him any displeasure. He can kiss my arse for all I care."
"How could you hate a person for no reason?" asked Owen. He took out two apples and waved back to a girl that passed by. With a flick of the wrist he tossed an apple into the air. Robert extended his arm and caught it.
Biting into the flesh, Robert felt the crispness in his mouth. In one fleeting moment, he felt strangely content. Noticing this, he inspected the apple. It was green and bits of light made the skin shine in a few places. He thought about the momentary bliss. The thought of making the sensation last forever tickled his fancy.
"How many apples does a peson have to eat in order to be happy for the rest of his life?"
Owen winced at this. Robert was at it again with his questions. Always asking questions. Always changing the subject.
"You didn't answer my question, Robert."
"Answer mine first."
Knowing better than to argue, Owen thought carefully and replied, "Well...I think humans need things other than apples to be happy."
Robert frowned at the reply. He stared at the half-eaten apple in his hand, finally seeing it for what it was: an apple, NOT the answer to human happiness. Frustrated at the sudden-realization, he hurled the apple away in distaste. It had hit a burly Slytherin at the back of the head.
Near-sighted as he was stupid, he didn't catch sight of the culprit behind the veil of leaves and branches. The Slytherin merely rubbed the back of his head and growled loudly, scaring a group of first years that stood nearby. Towards three Slytherin boys he stumbled and finally left the scene.
"Are you going to answer my question now?" Owen sighed as he picked some lint off his trouser leg.
Robert sat up on his branch and pulled out a leaf. His fingers grazed the pattern of veins like one would caress a face. He put it in his pocket and answered, " I don't just hate people for no reason. Hate is borne of some sort of injustice towards me, or at least, of some quality that just doesn't appeal to my liking. There's always a cause. There's always a reason."
"Why do you hate him then?"
"I don't know."
"You said there was a reason for everything!"
"I never said that I didn't have one."
"Then try to find out what it is. Maybe you'll get along better with people if you find the root of the problem."
"I don't wanna."
"You're just lazy."
"And that's due to the fact that I hate Harry Potter. I just don't think he's worth the effort."
" You're in denial. You think admitting the reason will make you seem like a lesser person."
"Since when did I can if I seem foolish to other people? When did I ever care what people think?"
Owen finally gave up. As always. His friend had this ability to twist reason to his liking. He can also exhaust the most stubborn of debaters.
"S. P. E. W.," Owen read, "must be Granger's work."
A slight rustle in the branches above him made Owen grin. He smiled his easy smile and sang aloud, "Yes Robert! HERMIONE GRANGER made these buttons! She must be the head of this S. P. E. W. thing. It is very much like her."
"Oh really?" Robert asked as he jumped down. Dotting his hair were small pieces of bark, leaf and twig.
"Yeah. Really," Owen said, beaming.
Robert reached for the button but Owen pocketed it swiftly.
"You wouldn't want anything Harry Potter has to offer," the fair-haired one grinned. His eyes glimmered faintly of a mischievousness not unlike his friend's. He knew stubborn Robert will not go back on his word. There will be a flux in the space-time continuum before that happens.
And he was right. Robert just shrugged and proceeded to climbing back up his tree. Robert always felt at home in his tree. The familiarity comforted him in ways he could not explain, for reasons if known he would not like to admit. "Security blanket", when mentioned, would result in Robert's fist colliding with someone's soon-to-be-bloody nose. So what if he liked it in his tree? He felt good there. Why fight it?
Odd Robert felt the bark with his fingertips. Yes, it felt good to be in a tree with the breeze blowing in your face, to watch the bits of sky above you and wonder. It would be nice though, he thought, to be up here with that pin than be up here without it. But he soon dismissed the idea, for it is a fact that one cannot have everything. A man should stick to his principles, and Robert was a man. There is no doubt about that. Young, but a man nonetheless, he has his own ideas and he will not waver from them. He'd rather have his principles, his dignity. Why bother with a stupid button? Handed out by Harry Potter nonetheless. I mean, really.
So that's that.
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It was two o clock in the morning. Phillip's snores weren't louder than usual, but Robert kept waking up. Quite curious, he was normally a heavy sleeper. The pounding in his chest wouldn't cease so he sat up on his bed. His five roommates were all in deep slumber. Looking to his left, he saw Owen curled up under his sheets with his mouth slightly open. Owen's four-poster was the nearest to the window. A bright moonlight shone on the trunk at the foot of Owen's bed and illuminated the pile of clothes on top of it. Owen was a neat lad, but he disliked handling soiled clothes, even his own. So he'd pile the day's laundry on his trunk for the house elves to pick up.
Robert dangled his feet at the edge of the bed. He'd been dreaming a wonderful dream and would've loved to continue it. But there was an unsettling feeling in his heart that would not let him. He caught sight of the unruly pile and filled with excitement. Quietly, he tiptoed toward it. He'd checked if everyone, especially Owen, was asleep. His hands trembled as he reached for the familiar black trousers. The moonlight seemed to make his shaky hands glow a startling white. Reaching into the pocket, his heart jumped. The button was still there. How strange it was to feel relieved and filled up to the seams all at once! He walked a slow walk back to his bed. It was ceremonious walk, one of solemnity and reverence. Getting back under his covers, he closed his eyes. Clutched in his hand was the button, blue and silver. Soon a feeling of calm washed over him. In that special place between sleep and awake, he pondered the day's last thoughts. Like a fog, it swallowed him up in a grey haze. He thought of one thing over and over. And on that final second before he sinks into slumber, he whispers.
"I love Hermione Granger."