One Life for Another
folder
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Draco/Hermione
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
14
Views:
7,019
Reviews:
57
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Draco/Hermione
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
14
Views:
7,019
Reviews:
57
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Galahad
A/N: Okay, so I'm still not expecting I'll be able to update more than 1-2 times a week, but I did manage to get quite a bit knocked out last night/this morning -- so here is another chapter to get things off to a better start. ;)
meankitty69 -- Thanks! Enjoy this chapter, I have two more written and ready to go whenever I decide to post them. lol
margaritama -- There is a brief description of Galahad in this chapter, though I'll be expounding on it in later ones. I can't really give away where Draco comes in quite yet, but if you look at the first two chapters there might just be a hint in there somewhere. ;)
At the moment I'm expecting Merlin and Morganna will be largely background characters. This won't be delving too deeply into the legend as a whole although there are several more aspects of the myths that will be woven into this tale somewhat. I enjoy taking the parts of legend that aren't mentioned as often or described as much and developing them for my own purpose.
RynStar15 -- There is something appealing about knights, isn't there? I personally think its because the whole knight in shining armor idea we have in our heads is an idea of a man that just doesn't exist in reality. lol
What could she do but trust him? History, especially that generally relegated to the realm of ‘myth’, was not always reliable. Yet Hermione had a difficult time getting the idea of Galahad the Pure, the knight who always seemed to do what was right, out of her head. The man before her seemed perfect, and that was enough to frighten her for a moment. His hair was dark brown and fell in waves to just below his jaw, making him one of the few men she’d ever thought looked good with long hair. His skin was pale, but had a glow about it that comes from spending a lot of time outdoors. And his grey eyes, they were the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen. They looked like smoky quartz, bright but with a shadow to them that spoke of something hidden within.
Deciding to trust him implicitly, she reached up to grasp his outstretched hand and allowed him to support her as she stood up for the first time since healing her ankle.
She didn’t know much about horses, having only ridden for brief moments as a young girl, and that was assuming that being led around by someone else while sitting on the back of a very docile horse counted as riding. Somehow she didn’t think it counted, but Galahad’s horse, though quite likely trained for battle, seemed thoroughly at ease having a young woman lifted on top of him. Galahad mounted behind her and set an easy pace through the forest as she reacquainted herself to the strange sensation of horseback riding.
It was comfortable riding in front of him, leaning back against his solid chest and having his arms on either side balancing her. The rode mostly in peaceful silence, both seeming willing to just enjoy the moment, but they did speak at random intervals.
“How far have you come from the future?” he asked, causing her to shiver as she felt his warm breath against her shoulder.
“Nearly fifteen centuries,” Hermione answered, voice low so that it would not carry, a part of her seeming particularly adverse to ruining the peacefulness of the moment. “Back home, the stories of you, of King Arthur, and all the rest are only that. Stories. Most consider them myth, just good for entertainment but not based in truth. Because of my awareness of magic I have always figured there was more truth than they were given credit for, but even so I highly doubt that anything I have read it accurate beyond names. The stories can’t even agree on those most of the time.”
Galahad laughed softly. “It seems to have my name right, and you recognized it when I spoke of the Dame, though you seem to call her by the simpler version of her title.”
“Yes, but how much of it is wrong?” asked Hermione, voicing her thoughts before she had really processed them. Something about Galahad relaxed her to the point where she didn’t think before she spoke in the slightest. “I can’t go around asking ‘oh, has this happened yet?’ but neither am I comfortable being so unaware. I’m not saying that I regret coming back in time, I still need to heal and it is an experience few of my time could ever hope for.”
“I may be of some assistance there, my lady,” he said in mock seriousness, and began to tell her of his childhood. He had been raised by Elaine of Corbenic, his mother, until she died when he was six. From there he was raised primarily by nuns, who taught him of Christ’s teachings and engrained the concepts of nobility and purity in him. “Don’t get me wrong,” he explained, “I am my father’s son. “I believe in the gods and goddesses of this land, but follow the Christ as the most powerful of all. My grandmother understands this, and has never judged me for it, but I cannot say the same for others.”
They spoke further on their childhoods, Hermione being as vague as she felt necessary to avoid altering the future in any way, and somewhat of religion, before settling on magic for a time. “I can do magic too, you know,” Galahad told her. “I was trained to control it as a young boy and have not used it since, but the ability is there. Christians do not take well to it, but that is part of the teaching I am to receive from the Dame.”
After awhile they returned to their silence and didn’t say much more for the rest of the afternoon. That night Galahad announced that they were still nearly a full day’s ride from the lake and would have to make camp for the night. With the help of Hermione and her magic, they had camp set up in no time. Galahad unrolled a blanket he had with him and left it with her, saying that his cloak would suffice to keep him warm for the night. Hermione considered transfiguring something into another blanket, but she didn’t want him to think or ungrateful or feel that she doubted he could take care of her. It was obvious that the young knight put a great deal of importance in doing what he could for anyone and everyone in need of aid.
They ate in silence, a simple stew that Galahad was experienced in making quickly, and then laid down on opposite sides of the fire. Sleep refused to come for her, though, and soon she was rising and walking around to where he lay wide awake. “Would you might if I lay by you?” she asked hesitantly. “I just don’t feel comfortable, and I think another person closer to me would help me sleep.”
He stared at the ground uncomfortably for a moment, and Hermione cursed herself mentally for not thinking more carefully of the period’s customs before opening her mouth, but finally he nodded consent and helped her lay the blanket under them. Galahad covered them both in his cloak and soon drifted off to sleep.
The next morning as they awoke at very nearly the same moment they found that their positions had changed in the night. There was no longer a full foot of space between them. Hermione had turned to face him in her sleep and he had wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close. She had buried her face in his shoulder, and he woke to find his own head resting against the top of hers.
Once more she felt guilty for not having considered custom, and Galahad found himself quickly disturbed that his body was reacting so strongly to one he considered a virtuous woman. Not that whores held any appeal for him, but his body’s reaction was not seemly. They quickly broke apart with mumbled apologies, going about their morning in an attempt to ignore what had occurred. Despite that, Hermione couldn’t quite hide the smile that fought to show itself. Galahad’s presence was like taking a Draught of Peace -- she’d never met anyone like him.
That day Hermione found riding to be somewhat easier for her, though her ankle still ached and Galahad was being far quieter on this ride than the last. Unable to deal with the silence this morning, she began to tell him stories of growing up at Hogwarts. Nothing about Voldemort or anything, just all the little daily things that had made school interesting. He said little in return, but it didn’t bother her. The look in his eyes said he was listening intently, filing away every little detail in his mind.
meankitty69 -- Thanks! Enjoy this chapter, I have two more written and ready to go whenever I decide to post them. lol
margaritama -- There is a brief description of Galahad in this chapter, though I'll be expounding on it in later ones. I can't really give away where Draco comes in quite yet, but if you look at the first two chapters there might just be a hint in there somewhere. ;)
At the moment I'm expecting Merlin and Morganna will be largely background characters. This won't be delving too deeply into the legend as a whole although there are several more aspects of the myths that will be woven into this tale somewhat. I enjoy taking the parts of legend that aren't mentioned as often or described as much and developing them for my own purpose.
RynStar15 -- There is something appealing about knights, isn't there? I personally think its because the whole knight in shining armor idea we have in our heads is an idea of a man that just doesn't exist in reality. lol
What could she do but trust him? History, especially that generally relegated to the realm of ‘myth’, was not always reliable. Yet Hermione had a difficult time getting the idea of Galahad the Pure, the knight who always seemed to do what was right, out of her head. The man before her seemed perfect, and that was enough to frighten her for a moment. His hair was dark brown and fell in waves to just below his jaw, making him one of the few men she’d ever thought looked good with long hair. His skin was pale, but had a glow about it that comes from spending a lot of time outdoors. And his grey eyes, they were the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen. They looked like smoky quartz, bright but with a shadow to them that spoke of something hidden within.
Deciding to trust him implicitly, she reached up to grasp his outstretched hand and allowed him to support her as she stood up for the first time since healing her ankle.
She didn’t know much about horses, having only ridden for brief moments as a young girl, and that was assuming that being led around by someone else while sitting on the back of a very docile horse counted as riding. Somehow she didn’t think it counted, but Galahad’s horse, though quite likely trained for battle, seemed thoroughly at ease having a young woman lifted on top of him. Galahad mounted behind her and set an easy pace through the forest as she reacquainted herself to the strange sensation of horseback riding.
It was comfortable riding in front of him, leaning back against his solid chest and having his arms on either side balancing her. The rode mostly in peaceful silence, both seeming willing to just enjoy the moment, but they did speak at random intervals.
“How far have you come from the future?” he asked, causing her to shiver as she felt his warm breath against her shoulder.
“Nearly fifteen centuries,” Hermione answered, voice low so that it would not carry, a part of her seeming particularly adverse to ruining the peacefulness of the moment. “Back home, the stories of you, of King Arthur, and all the rest are only that. Stories. Most consider them myth, just good for entertainment but not based in truth. Because of my awareness of magic I have always figured there was more truth than they were given credit for, but even so I highly doubt that anything I have read it accurate beyond names. The stories can’t even agree on those most of the time.”
Galahad laughed softly. “It seems to have my name right, and you recognized it when I spoke of the Dame, though you seem to call her by the simpler version of her title.”
“Yes, but how much of it is wrong?” asked Hermione, voicing her thoughts before she had really processed them. Something about Galahad relaxed her to the point where she didn’t think before she spoke in the slightest. “I can’t go around asking ‘oh, has this happened yet?’ but neither am I comfortable being so unaware. I’m not saying that I regret coming back in time, I still need to heal and it is an experience few of my time could ever hope for.”
“I may be of some assistance there, my lady,” he said in mock seriousness, and began to tell her of his childhood. He had been raised by Elaine of Corbenic, his mother, until she died when he was six. From there he was raised primarily by nuns, who taught him of Christ’s teachings and engrained the concepts of nobility and purity in him. “Don’t get me wrong,” he explained, “I am my father’s son. “I believe in the gods and goddesses of this land, but follow the Christ as the most powerful of all. My grandmother understands this, and has never judged me for it, but I cannot say the same for others.”
They spoke further on their childhoods, Hermione being as vague as she felt necessary to avoid altering the future in any way, and somewhat of religion, before settling on magic for a time. “I can do magic too, you know,” Galahad told her. “I was trained to control it as a young boy and have not used it since, but the ability is there. Christians do not take well to it, but that is part of the teaching I am to receive from the Dame.”
After awhile they returned to their silence and didn’t say much more for the rest of the afternoon. That night Galahad announced that they were still nearly a full day’s ride from the lake and would have to make camp for the night. With the help of Hermione and her magic, they had camp set up in no time. Galahad unrolled a blanket he had with him and left it with her, saying that his cloak would suffice to keep him warm for the night. Hermione considered transfiguring something into another blanket, but she didn’t want him to think or ungrateful or feel that she doubted he could take care of her. It was obvious that the young knight put a great deal of importance in doing what he could for anyone and everyone in need of aid.
They ate in silence, a simple stew that Galahad was experienced in making quickly, and then laid down on opposite sides of the fire. Sleep refused to come for her, though, and soon she was rising and walking around to where he lay wide awake. “Would you might if I lay by you?” she asked hesitantly. “I just don’t feel comfortable, and I think another person closer to me would help me sleep.”
He stared at the ground uncomfortably for a moment, and Hermione cursed herself mentally for not thinking more carefully of the period’s customs before opening her mouth, but finally he nodded consent and helped her lay the blanket under them. Galahad covered them both in his cloak and soon drifted off to sleep.
The next morning as they awoke at very nearly the same moment they found that their positions had changed in the night. There was no longer a full foot of space between them. Hermione had turned to face him in her sleep and he had wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close. She had buried her face in his shoulder, and he woke to find his own head resting against the top of hers.
Once more she felt guilty for not having considered custom, and Galahad found himself quickly disturbed that his body was reacting so strongly to one he considered a virtuous woman. Not that whores held any appeal for him, but his body’s reaction was not seemly. They quickly broke apart with mumbled apologies, going about their morning in an attempt to ignore what had occurred. Despite that, Hermione couldn’t quite hide the smile that fought to show itself. Galahad’s presence was like taking a Draught of Peace -- she’d never met anyone like him.
That day Hermione found riding to be somewhat easier for her, though her ankle still ached and Galahad was being far quieter on this ride than the last. Unable to deal with the silence this morning, she began to tell him stories of growing up at Hogwarts. Nothing about Voldemort or anything, just all the little daily things that had made school interesting. He said little in return, but it didn’t bother her. The look in his eyes said he was listening intently, filing away every little detail in his mind.