Thursday night James skips studying and makes his way to the field, broom in hand. It's a warm night, warm enough for him to leave his school robes in the dorm whilst he creeps downstairs.

He passes a broom shed. A very vocal broom shed.

James freezes mid-step, the hushed laughs and shuffling of a midnight lay piquing his interest. His Prefect instincts, as warped as they are, kick in. That, and the cruel fact he's aching to catch someone in the act. He snickers to himself as he tiptoes to the broom shed.

He presses his ear to the door, heart pounding and mouth grinning.

"Yeah," James hears Sirius' rich voice coo; it sparks something in his chest that leads right to his cock. "Like it when I fuck you like–" The shed gives a creaky shudder and a moan, soft and smooth and most definitely not female, slices through the silence. James swallows the gasp that threatens to leave his lips.

"Fuck yeah," comes the breathy, almost non-existent reply. "Fuck yeah, man. Just keep fucking me! Harder!" Shit, speaking of hard . . . James gropes at the growing bulge in his trousers and wishes he'd taken his robes with him. Damn it all.

He can't bring himself to move. He wonders how long he'll stand there rubbing his prick through his trousers like a twelve-year-old.

Not very long, he realizes. With a final creaky lurch from the shed, Sirius cries out, the bloke moaning encouragements that make James want to explode. He has to put a hand to the door to stop himself from falling.

Everything falls silent, save for the panting breaths of the three of them.

"Did you come?"

"Does it look like I came?"

There's shuffling.

"You're just going to leave, you fuck?" comes the bloke's screech.

And James hears Sirius laugh.

"Let Potter take care of it, faggot."

Max. It's – It's that Slytherin. It's him.

The door creaks, and James hides around the corner of the shed. Sirius steps out with a crunch. Sirius, disheveled but oh so smooth, turns the corner and looks right at James.

"Hey, Prongs."

It takes James a moment to collect his bearings. He merely stares at his friend. Sirius ambles over and gives his shoulder a small shake.

Sirius leans in close to his ear. The thick smell of liquor makes James cringe.

"Go on, mate. Broke him in for you."

He wanders away. James can't seem move, to breath, to think.

-

James wonders if it's possible to feel sorry for a Slytherin.

-

The broom shed seems smaller than it normally does. There are clothes draped everywhere. On the brooms, the Quidditch equipment; basically on everything they shouldn't be on.

There's a green and white tie at his feet.

He looks up, and stares.

The Slytherin stands before him, nude as the day he was born. There's genuine shock on his face. But, it leaves as soon has it had arrived. His eyes are empty. So is the bottle of whisky held limply in his hand.

"You just going to stand there, Potter?" The words are slurred and unclear. "Get in, or get out."

James finds himself stepping in and closing the door behind him.