Pansy sleeps with the restlessness with which she lives, all of her nail-biting and knee-jogging and knuckle-cracking and gum-popping during the day filtered and funneled into her sleep and into fluttering eyelids, half-mumbled sentences, and enough tossing and turning to actually tangle herself in the sheets, swaddled so tightly she can't even move. And that's when Pansy wakes with a startled cry and invariably bursts into panicked tears as she struggles to release herself from the cotton cage.

This drives Hermione crazy. She's one of those who can't sleep unless all the lights are out, unless everything is perfect and quiet and still, and the few nights she spends with Pansy are sleepless, watching the other girl rail against the sleep she'd welcome, until she shoves Pansy awake and tells her for God's sake STOP, and Pansy mumbles sleepily for Hermione to fuck off, and everything starts over again.

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Hermione tries to think of a solution. Sometimes, when the thrashing gets too bad, she'll wake Pansy and pick a fight, which leads to name-calling, which inevitably leads to sex, a flurry of fucking that leaves Pansy quiet long enough for Hermione to just fall asleep before the restlessness begins again. She tries a million different charms and spells and potions, all with the same temporary results. Hermione resigns herself to a lifetime of under-eye bags and sleep deprivation and comforts herself with the thought that her looks never really mattered to anyone, least of all Pansy.

One night, though, Hermione has an idea. After the talking and the homework and the sex, when they're both lying on Hermione's bed, skin sheened with sweat, Hermione scrunches up close to an almost unconscious Pansy, kisses her on the nose. Pansy wrinkles the offended organ and rubs it red, and Hermione laughs a bit before she begins. "Hold me?" she says simply, her eyebrows a question, and Pansy nods sleepily, yawns. Hermione turns and guides Pansy's drooping arm across her waist; Pansy unconsciously presses herself flush against Hermione's back, their skin sticking together from the sweat. Leans her forehead against Hermione's shoulderblades.

Hermione feels herself falling asleep, a minor miracle, as Pansy's breath becomes deeper, longer. Pansy doesn't wrestle with dreams or sleep that night; her arms stayed wrapped around Hermione, belting across her bare skin, and she lies quietly. For the first time, both find sleep simultaneously, and find each other there.