Hello. My name is Kris. This is my story. Read it.

Disclaimer: I dedicate this to Corinne Bailey Rae. Listen to her song 'Trouble Sleeping'; it's where I received the idea for this story. And this character isn't exactly entirely mine so I can't claim her. You'll find her in the fifth book – He was very good-looking; his dark hair fell into his eyes with a sort of casual elegance neither James's nor Harry's could ever have achieved, and a girl sitting behind him was eyeing him hopefully though he didn't seem to have noticed. And no, I did not know there was an Italian band called Forty Winks until after I got the title, but it has nothing to do with them, but I'll shove them in here any way.

Lacking Forty Winks

Prologue

I'd had trouble sleeping in the dormitory from my first night at Hogwarts. I'd sit up in bed, doing different things to keep myself entertained:

1. Homework - rarely, I preferred to keep it late. I thrived off pressure.

2. Wizard's Chess – sadly, I had to give it up after the second night when there was a large thrashing fight between a knight and a bishop. And I could never decide which side I wanted to win more.

3. I spy – extremely difficult with just one person, but I think I pulled it off quite well.

4. Pairing up socks – my Mother would have been ever so proud.

5. Sleeping: well, I always tried for at least five minutes.

My guess was that I wasn't comfortable in the school beds, wasn't comfortable being away from home, wasn't comfortable knowing that I was miles away from my Mother if I had a nightmare. It's not the same excuses now, because I'm sixteen…not eleven, and I don't need to go running to her because I'm afraid. It's just become a pattern, and I get so much more out of dozing through History of Magic.

Then in my third year I started to leave the dormitory and relocate to the Common Room. I managed to escape the prying eyes of the House Elves by entering after they'd cleaned and left.

There wasn't exactly a sense of danger down there, but it was so much more exhilarating in the Common Room when I had trouble sleeping than listening to other girls snore or mutter about something or other. It was some kind of therapy looking at the objects Gryffindors had left, notes scattered here and there. Soon, this too became boring so I'd lay down by the fire and amuse myself by painting pictures on the ceiling with my wand.

I'd picture whatever came to my mind, and it would appear up above, and I frequently found myself laughing at what I saw, more often than not. Occasionally, a vision would appear that I didn't know was even residing in my mind, and I found myself shocked – McGonagall dancing the tango with Flitwick was one.

Then one night, I found myself a new distraction – some company. I hadn't really spoken to him before, being a friend of Lily's; I preferred to stay away from them so I wouldn't have to suffer her or their wrath. I didn't expect him to be a person I could relate to, especially after that day in fifth year when he'd hung Severus Snape in the air, I'd eyed him in the exam just before, even then I remember hoping that he'd look back at me, but he didn't. Why I wanted him to, I didn't know. We didn't talk, still.

I was even seated next to him for a whole term in Potions. A practical lesson, but even then we managed to stop ourselves from talking to each other. I'd get on with my work, and he'd become engrossed in making others laugh by torturing the Slytherins with insults or pranks. He was making me dislike him even more. Not that he would ever notice.

He was supposed to tutor me one day, and he missed it. I'd heard rumours of what he'd been doing when I was sitting waiting for him in the library, making me hate him even more. I'd most probably fail the end of year exams, just so he could pull a prank on Severus Snape. That same night was the first time he'd spoken to me. He didn't apologise, of course…he didn't even know I was the girl that he was to be meeting. He didn't tell me, at first, why he was down in the Common Room, but I knew. Everyone knew he'd done something appalling and James Potter, his best friend, practically his hip-bone, his surrogate brother, had severed their friendship ties.

I couldn't relate to him, but at the same time I understood him. I didn't want to, believe me. I didn't like him in the slightest, but you don't need to be fond of someone to feel pity for them. I soon came to understand that he hated my commiseration, hated the way I 'knitted my eyebrows together and gave him that sympathetic face'. He said he knew I was being compassionate, but he could do without.

Then…I decided I wanted to be the one to break the shell. His visits became a pattern. He became a common guest. He even played Wizard Chess against me, played I spy into the early hours – although, I didn't let him loose on my socks. I wanted someone to tell me I wasn't myself, I wanted to blame something else, and I wanted an instant remedy. I wasn't going to give in. I wasn't going to fall in love – all this because I had trouble sleeping.

This has been on both the HP boards, and another website, called hpff. I hope you enjoyed. R&R, please.