Title: It's Not Insomnia

Author: Thursday Angelus (Well, duh, who else would it be?)

Rating: T (just in case)

Summary: Quite a few of Hogwarts' students are suffering from lack of sleep. And according to them, it isn't their fault. But it's not insomnia, they swear. The only problem is, no one would believe them if they told what really kept them awake.

Pairings: There are hints at quite a few, but nothing is really prominent. So, interpret it how you will.

It's Not Insomnia

Blaise Zabini

Blaise Zabini never got a lot of sleep. It wasn't because of homework, or because of any outside stress. It wasn't even because he had insomnia or something equally as irritating. No, it was because his dorm mates were all psychotic.

Theodore Nott talked in his sleep. He'd call out random gibberish, that Blaise supposed had to be relevant to his dream. Judging by the rambling and occasional shout muffled by his pillow, Nott's dreams had to be interesting, to say the least. The most irritating part was that he never remembered them in the morning, leaving Blaise with his mind working overtime, trying to figure out what they could possibly be. So needless to say, if Theo started mumbling in the middle of the night, and Blaise was still awake, he wasn't going to get much sleep.

Vincent Crabbe was a restless sleeper. He'd sleep for about an hour or two, then wake suddenly, with no clue as to why. He'd then leave his bed and go to the bathroom, then return to bed, before realizing that he'd left the bathroom light on and was blinding his poor sleep deprived house mate. So then he'd have to get back up, thump his way back across the room, and switch the light off. But by then it was too late.

See, the biggest problem was that Blaise was a very light sleeper. It wouldn't take much to have him fully awake. And, here, in their dungeon bedroom, there was plenty to not only wake him up, but to keep him up as well.

Gregory Goyle was far worse than the other two. He snored. And not just at random points throughout the night, like Nott's mumbling, but constantly. It wasn't even a rhythmic, potentially soothing snore. No, it was sporadic, jumping from quiet to loud in a millisecond, with random burst of ear-shattering sound.

Some people said that Blaise had a habit for being overly dramatic. And did he believe them? Why, yes, as a matter of fact, he did.

But that did not change the fact that if Nott's mumblings and Crabbe's constant marching to and from the bathroom didn't wake him up, then Goyle's snores were bound to. So, with his chances of sleep down to almost none, it seemed highly unlikely that it could possible get any worse. But, believe it or not, that's exactly what it did.

The fellow Slytherin that was giving Blaise the most trouble was actually Draco Malfoy. Draco had the worst nighttime habit of them all: he moved in his sleep. It wasn't just random limb twitches, or head turning. It wasn't even the occasional role. No, it had to be worse. Much, much worse.

Draco would go to sleep almost instantly, and was in fact a very heavy sleeper. But less than a half an hour after he drifted of, he would start to roll…and kick…and turn. So the blonde would often wake up with his legs completely tangled in the sheets, his arms twisted behind his back, and his head were his feet should go.

It irritated Blaise like nothing else had ever managed to in his life. He had even gone as far once that he lost it completely, and tied all of Draco's limps to corresponding bedposts in the hope that it would immobilize him just for one night.

Instead, the stupid boy broke one of the posts with a resounding crack that woke everyone, not just Blaise, and then he had to explain to a very grouchy Professor Snape why he had tied his friend to the bed in the first place. That was not a conversation that he had any inclination to repeat.

Draco was furious about it the next day. But in a quiet sort of way. He yelled, sure, but his body was silent. And then Blaise got it. Draco was always so still in his day to day activities, so frozen, that he had to move sometime.

It seemed that his night time spasms were simply Draco getting rid of his pent up energy when ever he got the chance. Because, honestly, teenage boys weren't meant to be as still as Draco constantly was. It just wasn't normal. It was as if he was carved of ice: put too much energy into him, and he'd melt; move him too quickly, and he'd shatter. It was the way he was raised, and it wasn't healthy.

So every night since the first of September when they were eleven, Blaise had been woken up around midnight by Draco's flailing, like clockwork. And then one day, he wasn't.

Goyle's snores woke him at about one thirty in the morning, and he grumbled, forcing his eyes back shut, trying to drown out the rasping breathing and Theo's incoherent babble. He was almost back to sleep when his eyes snapped open again. Something was wrong here. Very wrong.

He wasn't sure what it was at first. The dorm was the same as ever. Dark, cold, and filled with the possessions of five seventeen year old boys…there was no one standing with their wand pointed at him…all his housemates were being just as annoying as ever. Theo was rambling, Goyle was snoring, Crabbe had yet to wake up for his nightly stroll to the bathroom, and Draco was – gone.

The first thought that entered Blaise's mind was rather logical, considering what god-forsaken hour it was. He figured that Draco had just gone to the bathroom and would be back in a moment. He huffed in irritation. It was Crabbe's job to parade around their room at night, not the blonde brat's. He glanced over at the bathroom door, intending to glare at it until Draco came out and went back to sleep. The problem was that Draco wasn't in the bathroom. The door was wide open, the light switched of.

Blaise frowned; worry starting to creep up on him. No matter how restless he was, Draco loved sleep, and he never stayed out late. Besides, he had seen him get in that bed only hours ago. So, one of two things had to have happened: there was a kidnapping, or Draco had snuck out. The kidnapping theory was highly unlikely, considering the protection on their common room alone, not to mention the castle itself. So that meant that Draco had willingly left his comfortable bed for some unknown reason, sacrificing who knew how much pointless beauty sleep.

Because, really, the vain git didn't need it.

Now Blaise was curious. He just had to wait up for Draco to return; not knowing would kill him. So he waited…

And waited…

And waited…

Then, at last, at nearly three o'clock in the morning, Draco stumbled into their dorm, his hair a mess, robes rumbled, and a grin across his face that was somehow joyful, shy, and smug all at once. And now Blaise knew where Draco had gone. He'd found himself a boyfriend.

Draco crept quietly over to his bed, deftly steeping over all the places where the floor creaked with what looked like practiced skill, unaware that his housemate was watching his every move. He sunk down onto the mattress and curled under the covers, passing out almost the second his head hit the pillow.

And, for the first time since they were eleven, Draco didn't kick in his sleep.