Watching

Watching.

Terence Higgs was smart; Terence Higgs was devious, and Terence Higgs was in Slytherin. The latter was a foregone conclusion considering the fact his father would have killed him if he wasn't, but the former were definitely a help with the latter in mind. After all, Slytherin house prided itself on winnowing out the weak, the lame, the socially misfortunate and the explicitly perverse; leaving a core student body that tended towards fascism, psychosis, a disturbing emphasis on fame, wealth and athleticism, and the ability to keep their implicit perversions appropriately secret. Of course, none of them was actually pure or noble or vanilla, but they had the handy ability to pretend they were so, like most people.

Terence learnt to survive in such an environment and he did so by using his head. Marcus Flint could have brained him with one blow but Terence knew enough about Marcus to ensure that he didn't, and after a while they even became friends - albeit Slytherin friends, which was to say they didn't quite trust one another, and would quite happily stab each other in the back for fun and personal gain. Mostly fun. Terence did hate to be bored, after all.

One of the thing he enjoyed most of all was watching. He admitted it, he was complete and utter voyeur and there was nothing more delightful than the thrill of not getting caught. But Terence was also a coward. Discretion being the better part of valour, and fancying that his skin was far prettier intact, he preferred to watch in plain sight, when he had an excuse.

Right now he was seated up the back row of the Charms classroom, half listening to Flitwick as the rather nice old midget expounded on some aspect of Advanced Charms Terence knew already. He was nice - too nice for Terence to take him seriously, and far too generous and kind hearted to boot. He'd tutored Terence in all this stuff two years ago, when Terence was still the wunderkind and golden boy of all his professors. But Percy Weasley had proven himself to be more driven and smarter than Terence would ever be, and so Terence had started watching the boy who would steal his crown.

Flitwick's classroom was brilliant for a spot of voyeurism, especially if one sat on one of the back rows as Terence always made sure he did. From his perch, he could look down from the students seated below him to the floor level section that Flitwick used for calling out willing (and sometimes unwilling) demonstrators. On the edge of the floorspace, more rows of seating started, staggered all the way up to the other side of the room.

It was a mixed class, the motley group of sixth and seventh years from all houses who'd managed to get into Conjuration. The seventh years (Terence, Marcus, Adrian) were supposed to be working on their research papers, and a pile of parchment rested under one of Terence's elbows, his quill standing upright in the ink pot. He was, however, too busy watching, and dismissed the concept of work. If Flitwick wanted to question his progress, he had a heap of neatly written notes that he'd prepared earlier.

Marcus and Adrian were busy writing out notes in the first row of seating, and from the flushed set to their faces and the occasional stifled giggle, they were probably playing footsie. Over the other side, on the opposing first row, Percy and Oliver Wood were seated together as Percy attempted to demonstrate the charm that Flitwick had just shown to them. Terence curled his lower lip briefly in disgust, before realising that such an expression was rather ugly and thusly ruined his appeal. Wood was a lightweight. Oh, he was good looking, in that annoyingly natural way Gryffindors did so well, but intellectually he wouldn't have been able to get nearly as good marks without Weasley's help. Terence had swallowed his pride to ask Percy to help him with some things once, and Percy had just blown him off in favour of assisting that walking muscle complex.

Terence had seen the way they looked at each other at times when they didn't think the other was looking, and my, that was a Greek tragedy ripe for the picking. It might be fun manipulating it, seeing how things could be carefully shaped to achieve a desired outcome. All he needed was something to prod them with.

And then he caught the way Penelope Clearwater was looking at Percy Weasley. Terence smiled. Percy craved to be normal, to be accepted, and what better way than to have a perfectly ordinary girlfriend?

If he learnt the rules of the game, understood them, and applied them, he had to win. Terence always believed that things could be predicted, organised, accommodated. And right now, things were proceeding according to plan.

Marcus had caught him out at his games once, when Terence ill advisedly attempted to have some fun playing with the dynamic between Marcus and Adrian, and suggested that Terence needed a life. But Marcus didn't understand. He had a life; he had several, really, which he watched, and made the occasional adjustment. After that, however, he'd decided never to fiddle in matters so close to home.

Percy looked up then, and caught Terence's gaze. Locking eyes for a few moments, he raised one eyebrow before dismissing Terence from his mind. Terence dragged his eyes down to the fresh pages of parchment and got out his quill, starting to actually write notes for his paper. It wasn't because of Percy, not at all, or the total and utter lack of regard the Gryffindor had for him, or the inexplicable fact that that hurt and his heart sank like a stone.

Terence shrugged off the feeling that he'd been caught playing games by an older sibling who was distinctly unimpressed, and went on with his notes. There would be ample opportunities to introduce Percy and Penelope, and time enough for watching.