I was just guessing / at numbers and figures

December 27th, 2003

Gabby gasped and sat up, the bedsheets tangled around her ankles. Panting heavily, she leaned back on her forearms and closes her eyes, trying to regain her breath.

The winter air sneaking in chills her arms, and dressed in only a thin nightgown, she tossed her legs over the side of her bed and slipped on her slippers, wincing as the icy night air hit her legs, a stark contrast from her warm and sweaty bedsheets.

The pale moonlight illuminated the window, casting an eerie, opaque glow on the hardwood of her floor.

With her shoulders still rising and falling erratically with her uneven breath, she slips out of her room and into the hallway, making sure the door clicks quietly as not to wake her parents.

She tightened her arms around her body, and avoiding the stairs she knew that creaked, she made her way to the grand entrance of their home.

Her mothers' cat meowed loudly, and Gabby glared at it.

Greedily gulping down water, she breathed in and out. Steadily, evenly. It had been ages since she'd had these nightmares, and all of a sudden… they just came back. Like a tsunami, quickly and violently it swept her away, after staying away for a long time.

She wondered why they came back. There seemed to be no obvious catalyst, to her, anyways - nothing triggering. Her Christmas holidays had been very peaceful, and it had been lovely staying with her parents. There was one more term left at Beauxbatons - a light at the end of the tunnel - and then she was free, on her own in the world.

Gabrielle was happy, really, so why did they come back?

They were mostly prevalent after her sister married the British red-headed man. They reached their height during the peak of the war, where the nightmares marred her every sleep and her face resembled a hauntingly beautiful skeleton.

Her arms were still too thin, she thought, leaning forward on the counter and bracing herself with her forearms, weak with fatigue.

The more water she drank (bless those automatic refillable cups) the less she remembered of her dream, until it was dark and shadows blending together, little incomprehensible shapes she couldn't make sense of.

It was always like that. The longer she was awake, the less she remembered until she was trying to pull apart broken fragments to make some sort of sense from them.

The water heightened her sense of cold, and eventually, with her wand in her bedroom upstairs, she set the glass back down on the counter and climbed back into bed, digging her face into her pillow.

Hermione Granger stretched and sighed, not even bothering to make sure her hair was in a decent state. Her attempts at taming it, especially at this hour of the night, were all for naught, anyways.

She woke Harry by shaking his shoulder violently. His skin seemed to burn her hand, the heat transferring to her own body. Harry sucked in a breath and abruptly stopped his thrashing, breathing deeply. He stilled for a few moments before his eyes flickered open.

It was this, right after he woke up from the nightmares that plagued him, that scared his best friend the most. The look in his eyes, like he had no idea who she was, and where he was. She had come close to the dance of insanity, balancing precariously on the edge when Bellatrix was trying to push her off.

"Harry," she whispered, lowly but sharply, and his eyes flickered to her face and the tension in his muscles relaxed into his bed. The look of anguish on his face was nothing new to her; she had seen it all throughout their Hogwarts lives and their adult lives, more so right now as they both tried to piece their lives together as best friends, after both suffering harrowing break-ups.

"I'm sorry," he sighed, squeezing his eyes shut in a rather juvenile attempt to block out the world. He tried to kick off the covers in a futile attempt, causing them to tangle around his legs even more.

Hermione said nothing, just conjured a glass and went to the shared bathroom of their flat. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror - eyes rimmed with dark circles, prominent cheekbones, dull brown eyes, and a whole lot of bushy hair, askew. Shaking her head, she exiting the bathroom, using the small moment of peace to calm herself with a few deep breaths.

Damn it. They were in their twenties, Voldemort was long dead, and they were here, still suffering and giving. Everyone else was living with a rejuvenated outlook on life, but they were here, two best friends who always saw the lightning scar in the mirror or looked down to see crude words carved into arms.

Harry greedily swallowed the water, letting out a low breath of forced relaxation.

"I'm not going to get anymore sleep," he said, stubborn as usual, before he looked at her. "I'm not going to force you to stay up. Go to bed, Hermione."

Usually she would say no, as selfless as the idiot boy was. As much as he wanted to do things on his own. But the stress, the exhaustion, the every single little thing was getting to her. She sighed, and felt her shoulders slump forward as she pivoted and made her way back to her own room. Which left Harry in the small sitting room with ice water in his hand, shivering because of the wind chill and still seeing the shadows and the darkness in his peripheral vision.

"Manteau, cherie," reminded Apolline, frowning at her seventeen-year-old daughter.

"Oui, mama," replied the teenage girl, slipping on the heavy coat over her delicate frame and brushing the blonde hair from her eyes. They were leaving to England for four days to visit with her sister and brother-in-law, as well as her two nieces - three year old Victoire and two month old Dominique.

Her father smiled cheerfully at her - the way his smile curved up his cheeks looked almost painful - and they set off, the uncomfortable feeling of the portkey causing her to clench her stomach.

The grainy sand clung to her shoes, determined to keep her rooted to the ground. The vast temperature change startled her, and a particularly unforgiving wind blast made her sputter. There was no snow, but it was miserable, rainy, and overall very unpleasant.

The little house stood crooked on the side of the hill, towards the mass of water. Her elder sister must have spotted them immediately after they porkeyed into her backyard, because she'd opened the back door and gestured dramatically for her parents and sisters to come in.

The house was warm, small and crowded, with home cooking in the air. Her niece, loud, blonde and a carbon-copy of her mother, shouted, ran around and played with her toys.

Gabrielle had never quite liked kids - found them sticky and annoying, among other reasons. While others found babies innocent, and adorable, she'd never seen that.

Hadn't she once been a kid? Not for very long, though. She'd been a child for a few years, but then her soon-to-be-brother-in-law got mauled, her sisters' best friend died, and her father got sick, and Gabrielle Delacour was nothing if not adaptable to the situation.

Her brother-in-law was nice enough, the gentleman that her sister needed. Fleur was headstrong, and even compared to Apolline and Gabrielle she had always thought a little too much of herself. He was kinder than she, and they kept each other balanced.

"Happy New Year, Harry." She tried to put as much cheer into them as possible, but the sentiment came out twisted and a little strained.

He didn't even try. "Happy New Year it is, Hermione," Harry said, throwing back his drink.

It was silent for a few moments before Hermione laughed - oddly, with a slight bitter ring to it. "Is this what we're going to do, Harry? Two friends, bitter and alone the rest of our adult lives. Do you know what they used to call me in Muggle primary school, Harry?"

"Merlin, Hermione, you think too much," groaned Harry.

"No, I'm just -" She tried to argue, but his slightly patronizing forlorn sigh was enough to shut her up.

"Logical, yeah, I've heard," he said, in that tone of voice that reminded her more of an angsty teenager than a twenty-three year old man.

The water crashed against the shore erratically, and Gabrielle tossed in her bed. The moon was shining bright, and while the cold snuck in through the cracks in her window, and the worn comforter was much too small to cover her long body, she couldn't find it in her to look for her wand.

The shadows crept in from everywhere. They started from the reflection of the moon in the mirror, to behind the fluttering, ragged curtains and the dark corners of the wardrobes that stood in the corner of the room. They flew across the night sky, and spread their wings, and at first she'd think it beautiful, but after a while the feathers would fall from their wings and they would be dark, black, cold. Terrifying. Falling from the sky like Icarus losing his wings and plunging, plummeting, to his death.

Her sigh was desperate and brief when she tossed her legs over the side of the bed and stood up, pausing for a moment as the salty ocean air chilled her legs. Her silk robe tossed idly over shoulders, doing nothing to the chill but only there for a flimsy layer of protection, Gabby found her way down the stairs, doing her best to avoid the ones that creaked.

The tap had just turned on when a voice spoke behind her. Deep and tired.

"Can't sleep?" Bill said. He didn't sound surprised.

"No," said Gabrielle.

"I can't sleep during the Dead Days, either," her brother-in-law shrugged, like it was matter of fact, and clearly that was the reason she was down here, too.

"No, I… what?" What was he talking about?

Bill raised his eyebrows and got himself a glass of water, sitting on the table. Gabby was sure Fleur would have a fit if she saw his current posture and position. She only reminded Gabby to sit with her back straight a million times during dinner, anyways.

"The Dead Days," he repeated, taking a sip.

Gabrielle shook her head, giving him a curious look. "I still don't know what you're talking about."

"Didn't they teach you about that in Defence Against the Dark Arts?"

"Bill, I went to Beauxbatons," Gabrielle says smoothly. She had a much less prominent accent than her older sister, who seemed to like to dramaticize it often. Gabby had theorized this as to maybe while her sister had always seemed to push herself towards her French heritage, Gabby was more neutral as to whatever came her way.

"The Dead Days. The five days after Christmas, before the New Year. I only know so much about it because it's Egyptian mythology. Where all of the shadows and the dark things come out, and the funny part is," he says, but Gabrielle notices when people say what the 'funny part is,' they don't really think it's funny, "it's all inside your head. And it only happens to some people. No one knows why. Studies, searches, they've all found nothing as to why some are affected by the Dead Days and some aren't."

"So I'll take a guess here and say you are?" said Gabrielle, wrapping her robe tightly around herself in a weak protection against the cold.

"Wasn't before Greyback," shrugged Bill. "But yes, and you are, too?"

"I guess... I am, but it would only be since the war ended."

"Understandable. I know a few people who are, but they don't look as tired as you," Bill pointed out, looking directly at the pale purple circles underneath her skin, which looked papery and translucent in the sun.

Gabby silently contemplated for a moment before letting go of the tension and relaxing her shoulders, setting down the glass of water. "I'd better go back to bed," she said hurriedly, and the easygoing expression on his face didn't change.

"Don't you ever stop reading?"

Hermione scowled at Harry. "Honestly, do you know nothing? I'm always reading."

"What's it about this time?" She knew he was asking because he was dreadfully bored, and it wasn't as if they could go to Diagon Alley at this time of night.

"Magical Superstitions of the Nineteenth Century."

"Sounds like something Trelawney would stock her shelves with," said Harry, taking a seat on the sofa next to her.

Hermione frowned at him. "Well, it's interesting."

"I'm sure it is," he patronized, making her scowl and pull the book closer to her, shielding her face.

"See, this," she started, and she knew he only stuck around because he had nothing better to do, "The Dead Days. No theory backed up by evidence, of course, which makes it a theory and nothing more. But here, it reads that for the five days after Christmas and before the New Year, you see shadows, but only in your peripheral vision. Nightmares. Just generally dark."

"Merlin, Hermione. Do you think that happened to me?"

"Absolutely not. It's just a superstition - there's no evidence."

"That's what you said about the Deathly Hallows. And they turned out to be real."

"That's not the point."

Dead Days. Dead Days. Dead Days.

Gabby traced a circle on her palm with her finger, back resting against the headboard. The day had been long, and she'd retired to bed early. She let her head fall backwards, the sea breeze that was sneaking in fanning her silvery hair across one shoulder, causing the hem of her nightgown to flutter.

It sounded simply like a superstition, the ones that Mama believed in. Silly little things. But this - well, it could be real, couldn't it? Maybe it was an explanation.

Maybe it helped her believe that she wasn't that crazy. Seeing things out of the corner of her eye.

Making a split-second decision, she hopped out of bed, wincing as the cold of the floors chilled her entire body.

Diagon Alley was empty at this time of night - the first customers wouldn't be around until seven in the morning. It was still dark out, only the moonlight casting a glow upon the cobblestone. Harry had his wand loosely in hand - it wasn't as though he was expecting to be attacked, just a leftover wired-in function from the war. Leftovers, some may call it.

He couldn't sleep, again. Tired from previous nights of reading, his best mate had gone to bed,

saying she was going to sleep for a few hours if she could manage it. Harry had laid down, too, but the pillow hadn't felt right against his head. He'd tossed and turned for a good twenty minutes before sighing restlessly.

Maybe a walk would clear his head.

The waves rolled quick and fast against the shore. She sat as close as she could to the salty waves, bundled up. It was cold, but not so much that the water froze. The air was delightfully freezing, cold enough that it kept her awake despite every bone in her body that protested that she needed sleep.

The hours rolled by with the waves, surely, and eventually the sun was peeking over the horizon. The glittering of the stars that blanketed the sky floated away, and instead of Apparating, Gabrielle walked slowly back to the cottage, slipping inside.

It was warm, crowded, and cluttered, the same as yesterday. Everything was too close together, and the air last night, out by the water, had felt so refreshing… maybe it was time to get out of the house. After all, she was a legal adult. In Wizarding Britain.

The lack of sleep had made her a little stir-crazy. Bill must have some idea.

"Morning, Gabrielle," called out Bill from the kitchen.

"Good morning," she responded. "I'll be out for the day."

He seemed to understand - just cocked his head to the side a bit and smiled softly. "Okay. Be back for dinner - my mother insists on seeing all of you."

Where was the place Fleur took her last time she was here, in England? Diagon Alley, a year ago. The only place in Wizarding Britain she remembered. Maybe it would do her some good to get out of the house, and anyway, Mama was friends with one of the shop owners.

Securing permission from her mother, who had fussed over her momentarily before letting her step into the Floo and out the door, Gabrielle Apparating, stumbling slightly before gaining notice of her surroundings.

Diagon Alley was bustling with witches and wizards of all ages and professions rushing to work. The stores were just opening up, and lucky for her, she'd remembered to bring some pocket money. The last time she was here, Fleur brought her to the Leaky Cauldron, and although Gabrielle had been dubious of the dirty-looking place at first, she'd admit to being extremely impressed by the Butterbeer - much less watery than it was back home in France.

Something green had caught her eye before her shoulder was roughly jostled, and she stumbled back. About to say something rather impolite in French, the words caught in her throat when she stepped back and realized who it was.

"'arry Potter!" Gabrielle said, her accent mingling with the evident surprise in her tone.

He seemed to scrutinise her, narrowing his eyes. Surely he remembered her… "Delacour?"

"Gabrielle?"

"Come to visit Fleur?" he said, and his voice had a tone she couldn't decipher. His face was pulled into a mask of carefully-executed non-expression.

"Yes," she said. There was a moment of silence between the two; she hadn't seen him for quite a while, and last time she'd heard of him was when the news of the break-up of Ginny Weasley and Harry Potter reached the Delacour family in France. He looked tired, just as exhausted as her.

"Tired?" she asked, curiously.

He seemed to find this slightly amusing, his mouth quirking upwards a tiny bit. "Only as much as you are."

She must have been quite the sight - although her shiny, straight blonde hair always managed to lie still, her skin was paper-thin and translucent. The purple underneath her eyes must have been astounding.

"Quite a bit, then," she replied, lightly.

He frowned for a moment, before speaking again. "It was nice to see you, Gabrielle. Give Bill and Fleur my regards."

Gabrielle frowned for a moment; a rather short and abrupt conversation that was, for two people who had seen each other quite often throughout the years - weddings, events, the like. But she nodded. "I'll do that."

Harry seemed to linger for a moment, standing outside the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron. Like he was pondering something. He hesitated, for a moment, and then spoke.

"Have you ever heard of the Dead Days?"

a/n - I can't say there's much romance here, but there's a start. I read about the dead days, somewhere, a while ago, and it seemed like an interesting concept. I've never written this pairing before, but I've found that I seriously enjoyed writing this. I hope I did okay characterizing Harry - that's probably my biggest worry. This was written for Sophy, through the Gift-Giving Extravaganza Forum. I hope you enjoy it! Word count, without a/n: 3,268, which also happens to be my longest one shot so far.