✒ The first year Malfoy still had trouble sleeping some nights, not accustomed to sharing a dorm with ten-odd other boys, and especially not used to all their shifting and snoring, or the school-provided bedding. Not that it was terrible, but it wasn't quite the silk sheets and feather pillows hand-fluffed by house elfs that he was used to. It was barely an hour before he normally woke for classes, and he found himself restless and unable to sleep, staring up at the bed's canopy and listening to the sounds of the dorm drifting in through drapes that his novice silencing charm had long since worn off.
✒ A muffled groan caught his ear, which he might have ignored were it not for another small sound of distress that followed immediately after. Quietly pulling his curtain aside, he caught a glimpse of the dark-haired boy in the bed beside his own, tossing in the artificial moonlight. The moaning wasn't near enough to wake any of the other boys, but Scorpius could hear the increased breathing and could see Albus's features, contorted in pain.
✒ They'd never spoken before. Well, not but barely, Scorpius having done well to heed his father's warning about steering clear of Potters and Weasleys, though neither of them had inticipated a Potter ending up in his dorm. Perhaps he should have continued leaving well enough alone, but Scorpius knew the signs of a nightmare, and could recall quite vividly a time or two where he'd been caught in a dream's throes, unable to wake and wishing someone would have helped him do so.
✒ He hesitated only a moment before slipping off the edge of his bed, bending over the Potter and shaking his shoulder, whispering, "Albus. Albus."
