It is a truth universally acknowledged that the best way to prepare for a trip is to research the locale, the terrain, the culture, and the weather. Additionally, it is universally acknowledged that the best researcher cannot possibly know everything, and Hermione Granger was no exception.

She shivered slightly in the winter air, looking out the flap of the tent, and sipped her coffee as she waited for her companion to come back. It was colder than she'd like it to be outside, but it wasn't raining. For that she was thankful. Additionally, it was warm when the tent was closed up; between their spells and the fire, it rather felt like being inside a real house. It certainly looked like one.

"Granger, I found more wood." Severus Snape's words and the crunch of snow underfoot worked together to simultaneously shatter the silence, though when he poked his head inside, his fiancé could hardly be annoyed. He smiled at her before pulling it inside. It'd be no problem for them to sustain flames without any materials, but he liked the smell of the wood (which he'd really bought from another wizard who normally sold it to muggles), and Hermione seemed to prefer it as well. "Even more than this load, though."

"Oh did you, now?" She smiled softly back at him and waited for him to close up the tent as she tried not to sniffle. "Meet up with the modern day Mundungus, selling useful things for once?"

He shook his head as he took off his cloak and hung it near the stove, then moved the wood closer before he spoke any further. "No, just a chap named 'Don' if I heard him right."

"Mm." The coffee cup made a soft clink as she set it on the floor. "I'd like to see another familiar face, but not particularly Dung's. And not particularly while I'm sick."

Snape's lips quirked again. "Too bad you didn't plan to bring Madma Pomfrey with us."

"You're lucky that I even planned to bring you." She stood and made her way to sit next to him, sitting down on the floor to lean against his side.

"'I can write the saddest poem of all tonight. I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.'" The affection in his voice was clear. "Though I do believe Pablo Neruda was left out of any travels to Greece, so I've got some advantage over him there."

It was late that night when Hermione woke up with a start, her heart beating so fast she felt it was sure to burst. She was covered in a light layer of sweat and her head ached, sure marks that she was still sick – but more than that, that she'd had another nightmare as well.

Snape was already awake, sitting up, sharp eyes trained on her face. "Bellatrix?"

"Yeah," she said, though her shaky breath was answer enough. "I know she's dead and that she's been dead for years, but it's like my mind doesn't understand that when I sleep. At night, she's still alive and she's always after me or she's already got me and I'm being tortured all over again."

A gentle hand snaked out to stroke her cheek lightly. Hermione knew people judged them, not only for the age difference, but because of what Snape had done through his whole life. They didn't understand how the two fit together, but they knew she didn't care. She usually didn't mind being judged. Here, at the base of Mount Olympus, where she knew nobody, she'd come to realize that she wished people were more accepting, because the man she saw was not the same one everyone else saw.

"Distract me?" She smiled and leaned her head into his hand.

"Alright." He nodded. "I thought we were going to actually be hiking the mountain here, or that at the least we'd apparate up there, so I'd meant to ask you if you know the story of it."

Hermione's brow furrowed. "I know stories about it, of course. We all learned about it a bit in primary school. It's the home of the gods, or at least where they meet. But you don't mean that, do you?"

"Not quite." He laid back down, his head propped up by his hand.

"Several years ago, the witches and wizards of the world didn't disagree as much as they do today. They got along – for the most part, that is – well enough to form an international dueling club together. Some of them wanted to meet almost every night a week, but it was clear that that simply could not happen. It was too far a journey, and nobody could continue with their day to day lives when they were traveling to various places constantly.

Each of them began to scout out locations and every time one was suggested, the entire group would visit it to test it out. They tried place after place, never managing to agree on a spot. Finally, one of them happened upon a mountain high about any other in the area. They told the rest of the group, and that very night everyone found the mountain and decided they would duel.

It was perfect, for they could move up and down the mountain if they pleased, and the top offered the perfect place to all gather around and talk – not to mention keep an eye on the land below. As time went on, they dueled more and more, and their spells often were caught by the muggles down below. They thought the noises and flashes of light were storms. Ultimately, as the stories were passed along, the storms morphed into the gods and goddesses. The group fell apart - not long after the muggles stopped believing the stories as much, which took more years than we know – but the marks of their existence still exist at the top of the mountain."

Hermione had calmed down by the time he was finished telling his story, lulled almost to sleep by his soft voice. "I quite like that story – and in a way, the group did comprise of gods and goddesses. It takes impressive people to duel like that. Sometimes the muggles get things right. I'm sure of it."

a/n;

This was written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition.
I write as Beater 1 for the Montrose Magpies.
My round prompt was setting, and my setting was Greece.
Additionally, we had to begin and end our fics with the same word.
My other prompts were:
- 4 (quote); "I can write the saddest poem of all tonight. I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too." – Pablo Neruda
- 5 (word); coffee
- 15 (word); shatter