One Life for Another

When Hermione woke the next morning, it was to find the warms arms of a certain knight wrapped around her once more. Laying still, but opening her eyes, she saw the amused face of Nimue looking over at them while she prepared breakfast.

“That boy has designated himself to protect you, even if he doesn’t realize it yet,” said Nimue softly.

“He has been kind to me,” answered Hermione softly, “but how did he end up sleeping by me?”

Nimue chuckled, still quiet so that Galahad would not wake. “He has been known to walk in his sleep. Not often, and not like some people do, but if his mind is on someone or something else, he will seek it in his sleep. I distinctly remember a time when he was a boy that his mother took away a toy he favored while he slept, and the next morning he was found curled up on the floor next to where she had placed it.”

“Great, so I’m his toy now...” mumbled Hermione, laughing slightly at the thought.

“Telling stories about me?” asked a still half asleep Galahad, his voice heavy from sleeping and his face still buried in Hermione’s hair. He seemed to have processed everything a moment later, because he sat up and removed his arms from her body.

His hair was a mess from sleep, sticking out every which way, and his eyes seemed only half open. His features were relaxed, causing him to look more his age where usually he seemed far older than his nineteen years. The linen shirt he wore when sleeping was thin, and showed how well formed his body was from years of training for battle. If she had to wake next to a sleeping man, he was certainly one that Hermione would prefer.

She pretended to ignore him and turned back to Nimue. “So what exactly does my training involve anyway?”

Nimue sighed. “I had hoped to at least eat before we got on this subject,” she said, “but you don’t seem to be the patient type. By the gods, will you at least allow us to eat while we discuss it?”


The easy manner that Nimue had about her was comforting, and Hermione had to laugh, but when it got down to the actual training she was a harsh mistress. Professor McGonagall would have been proud to witness it.

As it turned out, training was strenuous but boring. It wasn’t like Hermione wasn’t learning anything, and everyone always knew how much she enjoyed learning, but it was at such a desperately slow pace that she thought she would go insane.

On the first day, Hermione was taught five basic herbs, how to preserve them, and their usual properties. According to Nimue, most women in training would study not more than three a day because it was so important that every detail be learned to perfection, but Hermione had a ready mind and absorbed everything quickly.
By the end of the day Hermione’s hands ached terribly from crushing the herbs to prepare tinctures. Nimue, or more like the Dame du Lac when it teaching mode, was very precise in her directions. Even Snape had never been so scrupulous in Potions, but when they were done Nimue had her prepare tinctures from each of her attempts, and Hermione had to admit that one did create a more powerful affect than any of the others. Though to her they had seemed the same, the subtle differences Nimue pointed out to her proved important, and from that point on Hermione took more care and had more respect for Nimue’s instruction. To read of the power of the Lady of the Lake was one thing to Hermione, to see her wisdom in practice was another altogether.


Galahad’s training was, though to Hermione it seemed impossible, even more boring and painstakingly slow. Though he’d been taught to control his ability as a young boy, his entire first day was spent altering the color of a tunic. Hermione could help but think of how, at Hogwarts, you would be told to make it blue and any decently blue shade would be acceptable, but even in this Nimue was precise. “A little more of a purple hue to it,” she would say, or, “just a bit darker.” Always she would look at it and immediately instruct him on a new shade.

“It isn’t enough,” she explained, “to cast a spell that is ‘close enough.’ It must be done exact. When you are forced to act quickly your skill will be thrown off, and so you must have your skill as precisely trained as can be to begin with. We all make mistakes from time to time, but that is no excuse to give up on seeking perfection.”

His hands didn’t ache at the end of the day, but his mood was foul and the women were well aware of it.


Galahad’s mood was not helped by his strange connection to the girl, Hermione. He didn’t know what it was, or why it was, only that that question burned at him. He had felt it on their journey to the lake, and now that they were here he found himself walking to her side at random times, unaware of his purpose until he was already next to her. There was a comfort in her presence. Not that she made him feel safe, as he was quite confident in his ability to protect himself, but more that he needed to know that he would be close at hand if she happened to need his protection.


That night Hermione helped Nimue prepare dinner, putting her new knowledge of herb lore to work. She had never realized that terms such as a ‘pinch’ were actually precise measurements, and it was made more difficult by the fact that she was pretty sure Galahad was watching every second of it.

He was still bitter about his training, but Nimue didn’t seem overly concerned. “He will get over it,” she had said privately to Hermione. “Every man longs to prove that they are the biggest and best of all. They do not take well to those things that are humbling. He’s a good boy though, and he will come around to my way of thinking soon.”


After dinner they all sat near one another, Nimue telling stories of magical Britain and the other two listening intently. Hermione went instinctively to sit by Galahad, who in turn put his arm around her, though if they were asked neither would be able to really explain why. It was just comfortable, and Nimue said nothing of it. In fact, she didn’t seem to notice, for all the attention she gave it.

“Magic has been known and used in this land for many centuries,” said Nimue, “since far before many other places learned of it. Avalon has been a refuge, the Stone Henge has been a place of power, and this lake a place of serenity and balance. All three are connected through magic, and if the Lady fails to ensure that their magic is balanced, then the other two will fall. Oh, they will still exist, but their ties to magic will weaken and become unusable.

“Always there has been a Lady, since the magic of this place was first discovered. And always there has been a Protector, someone who cannot hold her power but supports her nonetheless. Some are lovers, others friends, and at times they are family. My brother was mine, and upon his death Lancelot took up the role. The Protector is not chosen by the Lady, nor do they choose it for themselves. It’s something chosen for them, and each Lady and her Protector either choose to accept their responsibilities or don’t. The Protectors do not have to stay so close to the lake, only be available to heed the Lady’s call if need be. The Lady is bound to stay close, and though we can leave for a time, the majority of our lives must be spent here.

“You must understand, Hermione, just how great the task you are training for. Once you accept the role, there is no going back. You can leave the lake, but you will never stop feeling its pull or that of your Protector. It is for life.”


After that night Hermione worked at her training even harder, committing every detail to memory. To think that with each bit of lore she learned that she was increasing her ability to help Harry and protect magic was enough to keep her focused on the task at hand. All too soon, her ankle was fully healed, her body refreshed, and Nimue pronounced her ready to return.

“There is only so much I can teach you now,” said Nimue, “but those basic things that are of greatest importance you have already mastered. When you return, and find yourself ready to take up the role of Lady, come back to this place. I will be the last Lady before you, and here in my home I will leave for you everything I have to aid you. I will write down the lore which I would teach if we had more time, and you will have time enough to study it later. The Time Turner, as you call it, wears on a person’s soul, and I would not have you stay longer because of it.”