A/N: This is a bit from a fic I was writing that, frankly, wasn't going anywhere, so I moved on to something else. However, I did like this bit, so I modified it some to stand alone, and present it here for your consideration. Deviations from canon: there was a previous Hermione-hug that didn't happen in GoF, and I moved up Dobby's meeting with Harry to take place before the first task. Enjoy!

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Library

Tuesday, 22 November 1994

8:37 pm

Harry Potter was exhausted.

Less than 72 hours ago, he had discovered that the first task of the improperly named Tri-Wizard Tournament would involve facing a nesting she-dragon. Since then, Harry had spent nearly every waking moment in the library, searching for a method that a fourth-year student could use to defeat the largest and most ferocious predator on the planet—a task complicated by the fact that Harry had no idea what "defeat" really meant in this context. And with less than two days before the first task, he was rapidly running out of time.

Harry had had a bit of help with his task, though that it was of dubious quality. Yesterday, Professor Moody had kept Harry after class and severely bent, if not outright broken, the tournament rules against staff members assisting the Champions (although Harry refused to include himself in that category, describing himself as a "participant"). Moody has asked Harry several leading questions, ending with Harry "arriving" at the idea of using his vaunted flying skills to distract the dragon. Harry had immediately raced to the library to see if the idea was feasible, and was immensely disappointed to see that a similar attempt had been tried in 1773, and that it had failed. In fact, the attempt by Hogwarts Champion, and Ravenclaw Quidditch captain, Horatio Granville to fly past a Welsh Green and obtain the silver sword that was the goal of the task was regarded as one of the most spectacular failures in tournament history. Less than thirty seconds after taking flight, Granville had been snatched out of the air by the Welsh Green, which chomped its jaws twice, and swallowed the unfortunate seventh-year before any of the horrified judges or spectators could so much as draw wand. This unfortunate occurrence had led to the first of the calls to cancel the Tri-Wizard, though the tournament continued for another sixty years.

Harry had closed the book he'd been reading with a sick feeling in his stomach. Deciding he didn't feel like playing the role of a Snitch to a dragon (shuddering as he recalled his very first Quidditch match, when he had caught the Snitch in his mouth), Harry had decided to continue his research in other directions. But book after book failed to yield anything that was terribly helpful. That wasn't just Harry's conclusion, either. After Harry told Hermione about the dragons, she had immediately volunteered to help him with his research. She had discovered that dragons were frequently used in Tri-Wizard tasks, although nesting dragons had only been used once before, in the first task of the very first tournament. She had guessed that the tournament organizers were very likely to repeat that task—which involved retrieving a golden egg from the dragons' nests—as a way of honoring tradition and the re-start of the Tournament. Harry had agreed that Hermione (as usual) was very likely right, though he refused to discount other possibilities.

Harry puffed his breath out softly in frustration as he closed yet another book. He glanced across the table, to where Hermione sat, surrounded by piles of books on magical creatures. She had a piece of parchment close by and a Self-Inking Quill clutched in her hand, ready to scribble notes at a moment's notice. The sight was so familiar, so quintessentially Hermione, that Harry couldn't help but smile. He watched as Hermione's eyes danced back and forth, across and down the page. Those who didn't know Hermione would have thought that she was merely scanning the words, but Harry knew that her brilliant mind was absorbing the information as quickly as she could read it. Harry continued his observation, content to just watch his best friend read, and not really wanting to return to his own fruitless research.

Suddenly, Hermione's eyes slowed their rapid pace. Harry knew that Hermione must have found something interesting, as her eyes returned to the top of the page. His thought was confirmed when Hermione's teeth came out to bite her bottom lip, as they always did when she was deep in thought. The sight did funny things to Harry's insides, and his breath hitched audibly. He quickly snapped his own eyes back to the book he was reading, hoping that Hermione hadn't heard him. Harry's pulse pounded and he had to make a conscious effort to keep himself calm. He didn't dare raise his head to see if Hermione had noticed him watching her. After a few moments, it seemed that she hadn't, as she hadn't said anything and Harry couldn't sense any change in Hermione's focus on her reading. 'Of course, Harry thought, 'it would take a dragon in the library to draw Hermione's attention away from a book. Or maybe a banshee…'

As Harry felt himself slowly relax from his brush with being discovered watching Hermione, his thoughts drifted to the subject of his best friend. Ever since the troll incident in first year, they had been as close as two friends could be. Lately, however, Harry had begun to realize lately that his feelings toward Hermione were changing, although he wasn't completely certain of the how or the why of it. He suspected that it had begun when he had arrived at the Burrow prior to traveling to the Quidditch World Cup. Hermione had greeted him with an enthusiastic, though brief, hug, which had startled Harry—first, because Hermione had never been so demonstrative before, and second, because Harry had suddenly become cognizant of the fact that Hermione was, in fact, a girl. He'd known that beforehand, of course, and knew about the differences between boys and girls (thanks mostly to Seamus' frequent dissertations on the subject). However, having Hermione's body pressed against his, even for a fleeting moment, had opened Harry's eyes to the meaning of those differences in a deeper way than he had previously understood. Hermione certainly wasn't as…developed…as some of the other girls in his year at Hogwarts, such as Susan Bones and Lavender Brown, whose feminine curves couldn't be missed even under bulky school robes. But Hermione was no longer the stick-thin girl she had been in first year; she was definitely turning into a young woman. After the shock of Hermione's hug had passed, Harry had decided that he quite liked being hugged by Hermione, however briefly.

Harry also knew that his developing feelings for Hermione weren't just the result of teenage hormones, a fact brought home by his name coming out of the Goblet of Fire. It seemed as if nearly all of Hogwarts had turned against him overnight, including his supposed best mate Ron. The Gryffindors, of course, had supported him, but they, like all the other houses, seemed incapable of believing that he hadn't somehow cheated to enter the tournament. Only Hermione (and to a lesser extent, Neville) had believed Harry when he said he didn't enter his name. Hermione's steadfast refusal to desert him was the only thing keeping Harry from totally withdrawing into himself. And while Hermione certainly wasn't perfect—her tendency to nag Harry about homework being her most prominent fault—Harry was mature enough to recognize that everyone had their failings, including him. It also didn't hurt that Hermione had seemed to become much prettier this year; her hair was now more wavy than bushy, and much more manageable than it used to be. And while Harry had never considered Hermione's teeth overly large before, he had to admit that they fit her face much better after Madame Pomfrey's treatment after being hit by Malfoy's Densaugeo spell. Even though Harry knew that looks weren't nearly as important as people's attitudes and action (Daphne Greengrass, for instance, was gorgeous, but also rude and unfriendly), Harry was a teenage boy and couldn't help but notice Hermione's increased attractiveness.

Thinking of how pretty Hermione had become, Harry snuck another peek across the table. To his horror, he saw that Hermione was staring right back at him. His stomach dropped at being caught. Hermione, however, seemed not to notice Harry, and he quickly realized that she was merely staring into the distance and only coincidentally looking in his direction. At that moment, however, Hermione seemed to come back to herself. Noticing Harry staring at her, she whispered, "What?"

Harry shook his head. "Nothing," he replied. Thinking quickly, he added, "You looked like you might have found something?"

Hermione grimaced. "Not really. You?"

"No, nothing."

Neither teen had anything to say after that, so Hermione returned to her book, absent-mindedly twirling her quill between her fingers. Harry sighed and picked another book off the pile, determined to focus less on Hermione and more on his upcoming date with a dragon. He read the cover of the book he held—My Life Among the Dragons, by Hildegarde Crimple. Harry had seen her mentioned in other books as the founder of Britain's first dragon reserve in the 1700's. 'Not exactly current,' Harry thought. 'Still, never know where I might find something useful.' With another sigh, he opened the book and began reading.

By the time Harry had read the first ten pages, he found himself totally engrossed. Before she had founded the Welsh Green Dragon Reserve in 1724, Hildegarde Crimple had spent two decades as a naturalist, observing dragons in the wild, even living in their hunting ranges. Harry found the subject matter fascinating and the writing style was surprisingly modern, not as stilted and archaic as he would have expected from an 18th-century book. Suddenly, Harry stopped, gripped by the section he had just read. He went back and read it again, more slowly this time.

Dragons have long been considered to be nothing more than dumb, brutish beasts, feared and loathed for their tendency to feast upon all manner of wizards' livestock. A single dragon can easily decimate an entire flock of sheep, herd of cows, or quorum of hippogriffs. However, the dragon's reputation for brutishness and lack of intelligence is decidedly without merit. Dragons are far more intelligent than is widely believed (although they are nowhere near as intelligent as the talking dragons that are found in the stories of Beedle and Fellwyck). In addition, dragons possess exceedingly inquisitive natures. I have observed myriad instances where dragons have become near-enraptured of unfamiliar objects or creatures, keenly observing them for long periods of time.

Driven by my own curiosity on the subject, I endeavored to conduct an experiment to gauge the depth of dragons' inquisitiveness. To this end, I arranged for a colleague* to use a portkey (which had only recently been developed) to bring a Yeti into a secluded part of the Ebbw Fach Valley, where a number of Welsh Greens had taken up residence. One might imagine that dragons might regard the sudden appearance of a Yeti as a most welcome tea-time snack. However, since Yetis are unknown in Europe, let alone the rugged valleys of Wales, the dragons reacted with more curiosity than hunger, taking it in turns to snuffle at the unfamiliar biped, dragons learning as much by smell as by sight (see Chapter 3). One specimen even went so far as to give the unfortunate Yeti a full-body lick, which, perhaps unsurprisingly, caused the beast to indulge in a frightful rage. Rather than being threatened by the Yeti's tantrum, however, the dragons merely sat and watched as the Yeti gibbered and howled, shook its fists, and stamped its feet. Even reflecting upon it afterwards, I could not decide if the dragons regarded the Yeti's furious actions as an attempt to communicate or were merely removing themselves from the range of the Yeti's fists as a precaution.

In planning this experiment, I had suspected that eventually the dragons would come to realize that the Yeti was indeed suitable for consumption. Not wanting to be unnecessarily cruel to a near-sentient species, I arranged for the portkey to remove the Yeti from the valley after a span of five minutes. This turned out to be quite prescient, as mere seconds before the allotted time had passed, the largest male had begun to emit the low-pitched rumble that dragons use to indicate that prey is available for the pack to partake of (see Chapter 7 for more details on this phenomenon). Before the dragon could snare his prey, however, the Yeti disappeared. This resulted in an almost comical display, as the largest male blinked and cocked his head, looking at the spot where the Yeti had been only a moment previous. It resembled nothing more closely than a cocker spaniel gnawing on a juicy bone, only to have it suddenly disappear from its very jaws. The dragon's expression was, in fact, so humorous, that it was necessary to quickly remove myself from the environs, lest my incipient laughter alert the dragons to my presence, and have them decide that a human would do just as well as a Yeti for tea…

*Durwood Chesterton, then Chief Deputy in the Dept. of Magical Transportation; see Appendix A—Acknowledgements

Harry sat back, his mind racing. 'Intelligent and inquisitive… intelligent and inquisitive…'

"Hermione," Harry said slowly, still lost in thought. Receiving no response, he looked across the table and saw Hermione thoroughly engrossed in her reading.

"Hermione," Harry said again, a bit more loudly, though still quietly enough to avoid the sharp ears and equally sharp tongue of Madam Pince.

Still getting no response, Harry hissed, "Hermione!" as loudly as he dared, simultaneously slapping his hand softly on the table.

Hermione was finally startled out of her book-related preoccupation. "Harry? What? Oh, my goodness, did you find something? What is it?"

Harry held up a hand to forestall any more questions. "Remember how you told me that they've used nesting dragons in the tournament before?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes, in the first task of the very first tournament, in 1611. Participants had to retrieve a golden egg from each dragon's nest."

Harry nodded. "Right. Can you read these three paragraphs, starting here?" Harry slid My Life Among the Dragons over to Hermione, his finger indicating where she should start reading.

Hermione quickly perused the indicated text and a minute later, looked up at Harry. "That's very interesting, Harry, but why did you want me to read it?"

"Well, according to Crimple, dragons are both intelligent and inquisitive, right?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes."

"Assuming that you're right about the first task being to retrieve an egg from the nest…" Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but Harry quickly put up his hand to stop her. "I agree with you, it's very likely. And it's not like they could give us a very complicated task with no warning."

Hermione closed her mouth and nodded in agreement as Harry continued.

"Given that, don't you think a nesting dragon would notice an egg that didn't belong in their nest?"

Hermione's eyes widened and her mouth formed an "O" of astonishment. Harry nodded, seeing that Hermione understood his train of thought now.

"So even if the egg were charmed to look the same as the others, it would smell different, right? And I've read in more than one book that dragons have a highly developed sense of smell, which they rely on a lot. I don't know how sensitive a dragon's…paws, or whatever…are, but it would probably feel a lot different, too, wouldn't it?"

Hermione nodded, her eyes shining. "I think you're right, Harry. A dragon wouldnotice an extra egg."

"So how come the dragons didn't notice in the first task?"

"I don't know. None of the books said."

The two teens were silent for a moment, before Harry said questioningly, "Confundus?"

Hermione bit her lip as she considered it. Harry quickly shot his eyes up to Hermione's; he needed to focus on the task, not on how distractingly cute Hermione was when she bit her lip like that.

"Not likely," Hermione finally replied. "Dragons are too magic-resistant. You said that it took eight wizards to Stun the Horntail the other night?"

"Yeah, eight. I counted."

Hermione nodded. "Confundus is basically a control spell, like the Imperius," she said, lapsing into what Harry privately called her "Professor Granger" mode of speaking. "You're confusing someone—or something, in the case of a dragon—in regard to one or more aspects of their environment. Like how you said that Professor Moody hypothesized that the Goblet of Fire had been Confunded into forgetting that there are only three schools in the tournament. So while it's easy for eight wizards to throw several Stupefy's at the same target simultaneously, I think it would be practically impossible for all eight wizards to coordinate eight Confundus spells to the point where the dragon didn't realize that she had one too many eggs, or that one of her eggs was different. I think it's more likely that they're using a simple Notice-Me-Not, or something similar." Hermione frowned and paused momentarily. "Although it would have to be a spell that is keyed only to the dragon; otherwise, the Champions wouldn't be able to see the egg, either."

"So if it is a Notice-Me-Not, or something similar, a simple Finite Incantatem should take care of it, right?"

"I should think so. Since dragons can't do magic, I doubt that they would really need to put a lot of powerful spells on the egg…or whatever it is that you're supposed to retrieve. I'm going to check a couple of Charms books."

Harry nodded absent-mindedly as Hermione hurried off into the stacks. "Right, good. So a Finite takes care of that part," he muttered to himself. "Now I just need a way to draw the dragon's attention to its nest…" Harry trailed off as his mind started racing. 'Inquisitive…inquisitive…I need something to do distract it. Maybe I could do something. But what could I do that would catch a dragon's interest? I don't have any talents other than flying, and I am not doing that!' Harry racked his brain, trying to come up with something he could do to distract the dragon, but nothing came to mind. Almost in desperation, he started thinking of things he'd seen the Dursleys watching on the telly. 'Singing? No. Comedy? Pfft; no. Sports? N…wait, hang on.' Harry was struck nearly simultaneously by two memories. The first was the sight of Neville Longbottom doing a rather impressive series of gymnastics while under Professor Moody's Imperius curse. This was followed immediately by Harry's memories from two summers ago, when his aunt had been positively glued to the telly for every second of the Olympic men's gymnastics competitions, much to his uncle's disgust. Harry's breath caught, as his mind raced, making connections. 'Gymnastics might not be the way to go, though. I wonder if there's any other sport I could do?' A moment later, an idea hit and Harry smiled.

"What are you smiling at, Harry?"

Harry looked up to see Hermione standing at the table, looking at him quizzically and holding a stack of Charms books.

"Hermione," Harry said slowly, holding Hermione's gaze as she retook her seat, "Is it possible to cast the Imperius on yourself?"

Hermione's eyes widened to almost comical proportions.