Crossposted on AO3
Modern technology is featured. Let's pretend there were smartphones and streaming services in 2006 :)
Hello everyone and welcome to our new multichapter fic! The Odds was born by complete chance on a late summer day, but we immediately fell in love with this story. This Hermione is the truest piece of our hearts, and this Draco is—to put it simply—the man of our dreams. If you can't find one, flesh it out in your own words, friends!
We're going to post weekly updates for 12 weeks (mark your Tuesdays).
A huge, huge thank you to Ro, Samm and Meg for being our incredible betas! We couldn't have done it without you!
We are also on Twitter as saratinawrite
Sofa
1st of December, 2006. Somewhere in the Dolomites.
"Yes, no, I see it. No, I see it, yes I'm alive, don't—look, I'll call you back, okay? I just—I think the guy's there and I just have to get off this bloody car and—I'll call you back. Promise. Okay? Bye, Gin."
Hermione clicked on the close-call button on the steering wheel just as a middle-aged man dressed in full ski gear stepped next to her car window. The piercing cold wind bit at her cheeks the very instant she lowered it. She was desperate for a hot bath; steaming, even.
"Signorina Granger, right?" Godric, was his accent thick. A weird mixture of an Italian and a German inflection.
"Yep! That's me, hello," Hermione said shaking his hand through the window. "So, you must be..."
"Giacomo, nice to meet you," he smiled, nodding. "Did you have—oh, wait, maybe let's put the car away first," he chuckled when he realised Hermione still had the engine on.
She mirrored his laugh. "Yeah, that's probably best." Following his instructions, she parked her vehicle in the small garage next to the cabin. Giacomo, red-cheeked and rubbing his hands together, showed her how to close the gate, helped her with the luggage and guided her to the door that led to the house.
"So, how was the trip? Did you have any problems on the road?" he asked while leading the way up a small staircase.
"No, it was pretty much okay. The rental place got me an automatic car, so that helped with the bends," she chuckled.
"Ah, yes, those are always a bit tricky for people not used to them when driving stick." Giacomo fumbled a bit with the keys. "It's always best to keep every door closed, you know, just in case. Ta-da!" He gestured to the spacious main room after leaving the bag in the entryway.
Hermione could already feel her blood run more steadily. Her clothes were magically charmed to keep her constantly warm, but it was particularly freezing outside.
"The heating system should be already on," Giacomo was saying as he moved around the room to check the radiators. "How about the snow? Did you find it on your way here, or…?"
"Oh, that, yes," Hermione nodded as she glanced around—the place looked incredibly cosy. "It did actually start to snow while I was driving, but it wasn't heavy. Very much like how it's snowing now, actually," she said, turning towards a window. There were still snowflakes falling gently on the ground. Maybe a tad less gently than they were five minutes before, she mused.
"That's good, that's nice," Giacomo nodded approvingly, "it could have turned difficult. The forecast says that we should be expecting a full blizzard, so I was worried that you would have gotten stuck on the road."
"Well, thank Godr—thank God it didn't happen, right?" she smiled. Muggles. Language. Check.
"Alright, then," he said, clapping his hands. "I'll show you around."
The cabin wasn't particularly big, but it wasn't exactly small, either. There was a living room with an orange sofa, a brown armchair, a fake fireplace, a 52-inches television and a tall bookcase full of vintage-looking volumes and a considerable collection of DVDs; a red kitchen with a large, wooden table that matched the wooden walls of the cottage; a bedroom, with a king-size bed that looked like it came straight out of Heaven and a (wooden) desk positioned in front of a large window that overlooked the Alps. A bathroom, with—yes—a bathtub.
"You'll find the Wi-Fi password on the modem, but I'll be honest, if the weather gets bad the reception is going to be awful," Giacomo said as they made their way back to the living room.
"That's no problem," Hermione reassured him. "Actually, the less I am connected to the world, the better." Also, she had other means of communicating with people if necessary, but Giacomo didn't need to know that.
"Okay, great, um, then… There's a supermarket nearby—let me show you," he went on as he opened the balcony next to the bookcase and walked outside. "Just down the road, if you take a left there…" Hermione listened carefully to all the indications. Yes, she could summon food and make cash materialise into the cash register, but. The act and all that. She even went as far as to ask what would happen if the blizzard worsened, but Giacomo just shook his head and looked at the clouds, deciding that it was pointless for her to worry about that.
"Although, it is happening more frequently than not," he added as an afterthought as they walked back inside. "We get high risk alerts but then nothing happens. Which is kind of scary, you know, 'he who cried wolf' and all that. But… I don't know." He eyed the sky again. "I don't think anything's gonna happen… I hope."
Hermione hummed. She was very well able to recognise upcoming storms when clouds started gathering over London, but the mountain sky was completely foreign to her.
"Anyway, just to give you the full picture, the few times that it did get ugly around here, it was… well, bad. It was bad." He grimaced. "Sorry. I hope I'm not scaring you."
"Oh, not at all! I can deal with bad, I'm sure we'll come up with something if the situation gets worse," she smiled encouragingly.
"Right, of course. Well, then," Giacomo rubbed his hands together again (it must be an Italian thing) before quickly glancing around. "I think that's it! Ah, I'll show you how to close the front door."
Hermione followed him outside. The fresh snow that was gathering on the walkway felt soft and treacherous under her feet, despite the hiking boots she bought specifically for the occasion. Her magical coat kept her from shivering, but her nose was tickled by the wind and a few white snowflakes landed on her curls, leaving damp spots here and there.
The air smelled funny. Clear, open, fresh, wet. Unfamiliar to her. Hermione tried to look for the tallest mountaintop in front of her, but the heights were all completely covered by foggy, grey-looking clouds. And yet, it wasn't the same foggy grey that painted the London skies more often than not: it was somehow colourful in its monochrome palette. And to be completely honest, it didn't look very friendly. Maybe the storm was actually going to turn ugly.
Giacomo left her the keys and wished her a good stay in a rush when his phone rang, telling her she could call him for any problem at any hour and that he'd left a piece of paper with emergency numbers on the kitchen counter. Hermione thanked him again for his hospitality, before they both turned their backs on each other and she locked the door behind her.
Dialling Ginny's number again, Hermione entered the kitchen and circled the table to get to the fridge.
"Is the owner like a hunter from one of your muggle fairy tales?" her friend's voice said as soon as she picked up.
"My muggle fairy tales?"
"Oh, you know what I mean. So? How is it?"
"The place is quite nice." Hermione grabbed a bottle of orange juice—Giacomo, bless his heart, had already shopped the essentials for her. "There's a beautiful desk in the bedroom that faces the mountains."
"Way to rom—cise your wor—sition."
Hermione frowned. "Hold on. I can't hear you really well."
"Wa—, let m—ve arou—s dam—use…"
"No, Gin, I—" She looked at her phone screen. So, that was what Giacomo meant when he said reception was awful. "I think I'm the problem, wait…" She helplessly eyed the fake fireplace in the living room, wishing there was a Floo connection. "Honey, I'm way too tired to cast a communication spell right now," she said rubbing her face. "Can we do this another time?"
"I ca—ear a sin—e wo—u jus—id, He—ne. Call—ater—kay? Lo—u."
"Yeah, I absolutely didn't get that." Ginny was probably hearing static noises from her, too. "I'll call you later. Love you. Bye!"
Snow is not like rain. Raindrops tick against the glass and on the roof. Snowflakes, instead, fall easily on the surfaces, creating a muffled ambience all around. The silence was deafening, but somehow comforting. Hermione looked at the fireplace again. She finished her glass of orange juice and went to retrieve her bag from where she put it on the large sofa; fishing her wand out of it, she directed it to the empty firebox and flicked it, summoning a smokeless fire that cackled happily, even without burning wood. Ambience.
Another silent spell, and her mobile phone started playing music as though it was connected to amplifiers. The coming together of magic and technology had been the greatest success her generation of witches and wizards had achieved: it was honestly stupid to live in the twenty-first century and ignore the progress of the modern Muggle world just because the wizarding one would quite literally make the tech short-circuit every time it entered a household.
Hermione went to the bedroom and started sorting out her suitcase. There was a large wardrobe in front of the bed—way too large for the few things she'd packed, but she figured it was better to have more room than have none at all. A couple of shelves were already occupied with additional sheets, throw blankets and pillows. Hermione moved her jumpers on a free shelf and folded her trousers neatly next to them, leaving out a change of clothes and heading then to the bathroom to get the water ready in the tub.
This was nice. A bit solitary maybe, but nice. She would benefit from this. Distractions are a menace, and her novel wasn't going to write itself, was it?
As the water flew out generously from the tap, Hermione set her work position on the desk. Laptop, notebook, parchment, quill. She grabbed her wand again and flicked it to summon a glass and a bottle of water from the fridge, casting another quick spell as well to keep it slightly chilly. She was going to write that damned book: if it didn't happen now, when she had almost a month all to herself in a cabin in the Alps, then it was simply never going to happen.
A noisy gush of wind outside caught her attention. The sky had turned a shade darker and the snow was thicker now. Hermione went back to the living room and turned the TV on, looking for a forecast.
The journalist was speaking in Italian, so Hermione didn't understand most of the words; but the graph behind the woman was pretty self explanatory: red always indicated risk, no matter the country or the language. Various images of storms and blizzards appeared on the screen, and then a list of town names that, Hermione deduced, were on high-alert. She spotted the one she was currently in. With a groan, she turned the TV off and dropped on the sofa.
The music was nice—some new indie playlist that Harry had crafted just for her because "it's going to be good for your nerves—do not hit me with that"—and the only other noises were the wind, the faux-fire and the water filling the bathtub. Hermione closed her eyes, inhaling the atmosphere around her. So what if it stormed? She'd survived for months on the run in a tent when she was barely seventeen. It wasn't going to be the end of the world. She just needed to pop by the supermarket once, just to check what was actually there, and then she wouldn't even need to get out of the house anymore. Yes, well, she would have preferred if she could have gone for a walk around the village—but then again, she had a novel to write, and she surely was not going to do it while walking, was she? Although, she did have some of her best ideas while driving, or showering, or even laying in bed alone in the morning. Too bad she hadn't come up with a spell to magically make ephemeral ideas turn into complete, written stories in the blink of an eye.
Hermione realised she was about to drift off when another sound made its way to her ears and startled her.
Car engine.
Was Giacomo back? Did he forget to tell her something?
She stood quickly and motioned her wand towards the bathroom to turn the water off while going to the door, a slight crease between her eyebrows. Maybe it was something about the weather alert? Did she actually fall asleep? Had it been so long that the weather had turned that ugly?
She opened the door and came face to face with a shiny and wet black Range Rover's nose parked right at the bottom of the three steps that led to the cabin's entrance. Why would Giacomo drive here now, when he walked earlier?
Hermione squeezed herself in her arms from the cold—she'd left the coat inside—and waited for the familiar face to pop out of the opening car door.
She couldn't have anticipated the sudden shock that replaced her perplexed frown when a blond head she hadn't seen in four-or-seven years appeared in front of her.
"Hello," the unmistakable voice of none other than Draco Malfoy said as he stepped out of the vehicle and onto the snow, "sorry I'm—oh." The words died in his mouth when he turned his head and met the paralysed expression on Hermione's face, whose mouth had fallen slack, along with her arms, now helplessly dangling at her sides.
Malfoy halted in his movements, leaning back on the car door, the snow quickly blanketing his coated shoulders.
He stared at her for an endless minute while she kept blinking stupidly at him.
"Salazar assist me," he scoffed then, drawling his s's in that haughty and annoying way that had always irked her. "If it isn't the Golden Girl herself."
Hermione came back to her senses and wrapped her arms around herself—whether to protect herself from the heavier snow or the feeling of distress that slammed into her at those words, she didn't know. "What the… Malfoy? What in Godric's name are you doing here?!"
"No, what are you doing here? I booked this place." He closed the car door, before rubbing the snow away from his shoulders with a hand.
"No, you didn't. I booked this place. Otherwise why would I even be here, pray tell?"
"That's exactly what I'm asking myself right now." He went to the back of the car to retrieve his suitcase from the boot. When he made his way up the steps to the entrance and Hermione showed no sign of stepping aside, he said: "Can you move? I'd very much prefer not to turn into a living snowman."
"No, I'm not moving," she replied stubbornly as she stepped back to crowd the door space even more. Exactly how tall Malfoy was? Had he always been this tall? "I told you, I booked this place. From today, the first of December, to Christmas. You have no business being here, so, if you'd be so kind, go back to where you came from."
Malfoy groaned, rolling his eyes. He took his phone out from a pocket inside his coat and tapped a few times on the screen before turning it to her. "No. See? 12/1. I booked it."
Hermione looked at the screen and then at him, now wondering if he'd always been that stupid, too. "12/1 means the twelfth of January."
"Yes, Granger, good job." The condescending undertone made her want to throttle him. "That's here. But I booked it from an American website, and those useless wankers use the month-day format, so 12/1 means the first of December. Today."
Hermione stared at him for a second. What exactly was happening? "No," she said eventually, marching back inside to find her phone and her own booking email. Malfoy was quick to follow her, closing the front door behind him and shrugging the snow from his coat. "See? 1/12," Hermione exclaimed, holding out her screen victoriously. "Booked from an English website. First of December."
He frowned then, taking the phone from her hands. "No. It was booked for me, I'm sure."
"Well, the owner was here and he was clearly expecting me, not you," Hermione retorted, snatching her phone back. "So hop back in your car and go away."
"Yeah, right, with this weather," Malfoy scoffed, tapping at his phone again. He brought it to his ear, an arm across his chest as his eyes surveyed the cottage. "Pronto, Giacomo? Salve, sì, sono Draco Malfoy…"
Hermione felt like her eyes were about to pop out of her orbits. She was not going to wonder how, when, or why Draco Malfoy had learned to speak Italian like a native. She was not.
Her foot started drumming on the floor while she waited for Malfoy to finish his call, wondering why his line was not breaking and also very conscious of the fact that she already knew the obvious—and gloriously preposterous—outcome.
She had booked the cabin. Hermione. Giacomo had been waiting for her and he had correctly said "signorina Granger" when he met her; had he been waiting for a certain "signor Malfoy", he would have definitely asked some questions. She had booked it, and she had booked it for the first of December—1/12. She checked the email; she checked the calendar; both correct. If Malfoy had booked it for the 12/1, that could have only meant that...
"Well, the website was American but the dates were in the English format, and apparently there was a note I didn't read which means now I'm stuck here," Malfoy declared as he pocketed his mobile and opened his arms as to embrace the space around them.
Hermione blinked again. "What do you mean, stuck here? You're not stuck, you can take your car and go somewhere else."
"Oh, fuck no, you haven't seen the snow I was greeted with on the road. Maybe you haven't listened to the news, Granger, but there is a weather alert." He took his coat off, then his leather shoes. The snob git was too high up on his horse to wear regular mountain boots, it appeared.
"Apparate away."
"Absolutely not."
"Why?!"
"First of all," he said gallantly as he fell on the sofa and raised a finger, "because I have very restricted Apparition rules to follow, and one of them is that I am incapacitated to apparate for travelling unless under authorisation by a specific Ministry Office and blah, blah, blah—perks of my beautiful life sentence for having mildly partaken in attempted genocide." He even smiled at that. Hermione decided right there and then that she was going to shove away every thought that was not about getting Malfoy out of her cabin for the time being and unpack everything else at some point in the future.
"Second of all," he went on, "but not less important, I uh…" he pretended to weigh the issue as he raised a second finger. "I don't feel like it."
Hermione was still struggling to keep her mouth from falling open every other second and her increasing rage wasn't helping. Thankfully—or not—her phone rang.
"Signorina Granger, hello, can you hear me?"
"Yes! Giacomo, hi, I—"
"Mister Malfoy called me—"
"Yes, well, I was there," she started, and then she got distracted by Malfoy, who stood up and motioned his mouth very broadly to tell her he was going to the kitchen. Stifling an insult that Giacomo could have mistook as directed to him, she just showed him her finger and turned the other way.
"He told me about the mix-up."
"Right, exactly, is there anything we can do about it?"
"As I was telling Mister Malfoy, for the time being there is a second cabin he could stay at that's free right now, since I suppose switching dates is obviously out of the question..."
"Definitely," she muttered.
"—but at the present moment the municipality issued a semi-lockdown for a couple of days because there has been an avalanche not far from here, and there's also the weather alert, therefore it's really not safe to venture out of the house. And there I was hoping…" he chuckled, probably trying to hide an impending panic attack of his own. Hermione closed her eyes and patted her forehead with her curled fist. "Bottom line is, I can't reach you nor can Mr Malfoy go there."
This is a nightmare. Right? It must be. She pinched the bridge of her nose. "So, what are we going to do?"
Giacomo stayed silent for a beat. Then, tentatively, he answered: "He was saying that you two actually know each other? I mean, not that I would ever want to put you in a position that is anything but ideal for you—" he quickly added, almost stumbling over his own words, as Hermione turned around to find Malfoy sat on the kitchen table and looking at her through the door, a smirk painted across his face. He wiggled his fingers in greeting; then he raised his eyebrows and put down the glass of orange juice he was sipping on to raise both his hands, and that was when Hermione realised she had accio'd her wand and was now pointing it straight at his face, her jaw clenched and her phone pressed to her ear.
"No, I get it," she said in what she hoped was her best resemblance of politeness. "It's fine, it's definitely not your fault. Look, I think the line's a bit jumpy," (lie), "can I call you back? I'll sort this out with Malfoy."
She half listened to Giacomo's answer before closing the call and throwing the phone on the sofa. Her wand was still out and she kept it outstretched as she stepped towards Malfoy, holding his gaze.
When she was close enough that the tip of her wand almost touched his neck, she told him without ambiguity, "You're leaving."
He put his arms down and grabbed his glass again. "Nah."
Her knuckles turned a shade whiter. "What are you doing here, anyway?"
"None of your business. What are you doing here?"
"If you need a place to sit and contemplate the emptiness that is your life, you can do it from the comfort of your own home. I actually have work to do."
"Amazing," he shrugged as he sipped his drink. "Hm. I wonder if there's some wine around."
Hermione closed the distance between her wand and his neck. Malfoy's expression twitched and tensed. "What did you tell Giacomo?"
"That, funnily enough," he drawled out, slowly tearing his eyes away from her wand, "we know each other and I was sure your renowned selflessness would not send me back into the upcoming storm when there is a beautiful cabin here that could shelter us both."
Hermione's nostrils flared. If there was a way out from here, she couldn't see it. Brightest witch of her age, and for what?
"You could always apparate and leave—ouch, fuck, Granger," he hissed, slapping her wand away and massaging his neck. Yeah, maybe she burned him a little. So what.
"I booked this place. As soon as you can travel again—with whatever means—you're out of here." She put her wand in her back pocket. "Write to the Ministry. You said you need permission and whatnot—write them, I have some parchment with me."
"I can't do that because I actually apparated here—well, not here here but, you know, the village down below to get the car; anyway, I apparated here and I already have another permission to travel in ten day's time and can't get another one in between." He shrugged. Just regular administration, apparently. "Also, I don't know if you've ever faced the Ministry bureaucracy but, believe me, it is Hell on Earth, everything is slow and long and complicated, and there's papers to sign, documents to produce, stamps to put—"
"Okay, shut up, will you?" Hermione exclaimed while falling on the closest chair and taking her head in her hands. "Merlin's sake, this can't be happening to me."
"Relax, Granger, it's just a couple of days," Malfoy said, before standing up and putting his glass in the sink. "If you must know, I'm not too fond of the idea of sharing a small space with you either."
"Not too fond," she scoffed under her breath. Hermione's brain kept working to find a possible solution that would rid her of Malfoy quickly, but nothing seemed to be effective enough. Floo: impossible; broom: definitely not with that weather—and she didn't even have one; apparition: legally out of the way. Side-along apparition could work, but there was probably a limitation on that, too. It would be a loophole way too easy to bypass. Portkey: too much of a hassle. Muggle transportation was definitely a no. He could walk to the other house maybe, if it was close enough; but that, too, would have to wait, given the halt to movements Giacomo told her about.
This was a disaster.
"Look," Hermione sighed, a sense of dread and dismay taking over her all at once. "Fine. Just a couple of days, right? I reckon I can tolerate you for a couple of days and then you'll piss off to…" she waved a hand around. "Wherever you want to go."
"Brilliant," Malfoy replied with mock-excitement. "It'll be just like the old days." He went to take his suitcase and then looked around. Probably for the bedroom.
Hermione jumped upright and in an instant she was in front of her bedroom door. "Absolutely not."
Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "Where do you expect me to sleep? In the car?"
"If you fancy it."
His hand went to her hip to push her out of the way. "Move, Granger."
She slapped it off of her. "No. There is only one bed—and it's mine." She pointed her chin towards the orange sofa. "That one looks big enough. There are extra sheets and covers in my wardrobe—I'll fetch those, and I'm sure you'll have a wonderful night's sleep."
In the short second in which Malfoy turned his widened eyes to look at the sofa, Hermione quickly opened the door and slipped inside, locking it behind her. She exhaled, leaning with her back against it.
Fuck.