Hermione had taken a bold decision. She was going to come out of the shower draped in just her towels, as usual. One was wrapped, turban like, around her hair, while the other would protect her modesty, if Harry stopped watching Ancient Aliens long enough to notice her. She didn't quite know if she wanted him to or not. Sometimes, when she left the shower in other hotels in other cities, she often thought that Harry was sneaking glances at her out of the corners of his eyes, as if he thought she wouldn't notice him doing it.

But she'd noticed, and she was astonished to find that she didn't mind him looking if he wanted to.

In fact, it thrilled her far more than she knew it should. Her rational mind knew why Harry would be glancing at her like that, but that same logic would argue that it was Harry ... and that he didn't want her like that, so why else would he be looking? Which made her a bit cross, if she was honest. Okay, so she wasn't Olympic-swimmer fit, but she wasn't Olympe Maxime heffa-sized, either.

In any case, Harry seemed to like looking ... whatever it was that Hermione looked like. She just couldn't rationalise why.

And now, ever since his declaration two days ago, Hermione found that she was strangely shy around him. Ever since she'd asked him - and only him - to come to Australia to help locate her parents, they had sunbathed together, swam in remote lagoons together - albeit in their underwear - and shared multiple beds together. But now, it seemed that such things had become so taboo that to suggest any of the like again was akin to committing a heinous crime.

Which is why Hermione had needed to corral all of her courage to exit the bathroom dressed just in towels. There was always the possibility that she hadn't wrapped tightly enough, and whereas before - if her towels had fallen - that might have been a funny story to tell, Hermione now thought it might be a flirty little precursor to something else. Though why such things were dominating her mind she was at a loss to explain.

It was like a dam had broken in her brain, and she had no idea how she was supposed to stem it.

So it was with a curious sense of disappointment that all her racy little plans came to nought, as she found her room frustratingly Harry-less when she exited the bathroom. Instead, she found her mother lounging on the bed, watching the twenty-four hour cookery channel, in preference to Harry's addiction to the bizarre conspiracy theory that aliens had built the Pyramids of Giza.

"Mum?" Hermione queried, tightening her towels and wondering immediately why she had left them quite so loose in the first place. "What are you doing in here? Is everything alright?"

Catrin Granger turned to her daughter. Her eyes still retained a hint of the glassy glaze that the Memory Modification Charm had caused, though the St Mungo's Healers - who had taught Hermione the reversal spell - insisted this would fade over time. Hermione hoped that it would vanish sooner rather than later ... the guilt it stirred in her on seeing it made her physically sick.

"Oh, yes honey," Catrin replied brightly. "Everything's fine. Your Dad and Harry have gone down to the bar. There's something called the FA Cup Final on television apparently. They were both very excited about watching it."

"Hold on," Hermione smirked. "Dad and Harry have gone to watch the football and have a beer or two? Is that what you're saying?"

"Something like that," Catrin grinned back. "I've pretty much pussy-whipped your father over the years ... I think he's actually enjoying a bit of masculine company for a change!"

Hermione closed her eyes in her horror. "Mum, please ... never use the phrase pussy-whipped to describe you and Dad again! No amount of therapy - magical or Muggle - will remove that notion from my brain!"

Catrin laughed heartily. "Oh, don't be such an old prude, Hermione! We'd didn't raise you to be so silly! Your father and I are healthy, loving adults ... and we enjoy healthy, adult activities ..."

"Mum ... stop!" Hermione begged. "I don't want to have to perform a Memory Modifying Charm on myself to forget this conversation!"

Catrin chuckled again. "So, is there a problem with Harry socialising with your father alone? He didn't seem to think there was."

"Problem? No. Why would there be?"

"Oh ... I don't know," Catrin hinted shrewdly. "Just seems like there might be an announcement in the offing, that's all."

Hermione shifted nervously and adjusted her towels. "Why do you think that? What could we possibly announce? I told you I had a boyfriend back in England."

"And yet you brought Harry to find us ... and he came willingly, leaving his own girlfriend behind," Catrin smirked. "Seems a little unusual."

"Ron and Ginny have just lost a brother," Hermione tried to explain. "We thought they needed space to grieve."

"That's fair enough," Catrin conceded. "So explain to me why Harry looks at you like you're the centre of his world ... and you look at him like you want to rip his clothes off?"

"Mother!" Hermione shrieked. "What a thing to say!"

"Maybe. But am I wrong?"

Hermione went to say that she was, but hesitated for half a second. It might have been a lifetime.

"See?" Catrin smirked. "Talk to me, my girl. I know that you want to."

Hermione sighed deeply. It wasn't her usual huff. She normally gave that in resistance, but she genuinely craved her mother's guidance on this, and was glad she had brought it up. She always knew when Hermione was in need.

"Truth is, Mum, I think I've made a massive mistake ... and I don't know what to do," Hermione began in a small voice.

"What sort of mistake?" Catrin pressed, muting the television and turning to face her daughter.

"I, sort of, kissed Ron ... you know, my other friend," Hermione confessed.

Catrin gasped aloud. "Don't tell me he's your boyfriend? The one who always has dirt on his nose and smells like old cabbage?"

"He ... what?" Hermione quirked. "Ron doesn't smell like cabbage ... does he?"

"Reeks of it," Catrin grimaced. "We never liked to bring it up, of course, but if he bathed in vinegar he'd turn into sauerkraut. Hermione, baby ... why? We know he's your friend, but ... he looks like a scarecrow. You can do better than a scarecrow, love."

"Well, that's sort of the thing," Hermione began, trying to not picture Ron stood in a field covered in birds. Harry once said he had a dream about Ron being a soft, slow bird, whatever that meant. "I ... I only started thinking about Ron because I, sort of, gave up on Harry. Only, I never really did. And now he's said some things to me ... and I don't know what to do."

"Right, let's start at the beginning," Catrin announced decisively. "Tell me about giving up on Harry."

Hermione blushed as she sat back against the headboard of the bed. "Well, I've always fancied Harry a bit, ever since he saved me from a twelve-foot-troll in our first year. Made me feel like a princess in a fairy tale, rescued by a handsome prince or something. But I always thought it was just a little crush, it would go away eventually.

"Only, it didn't. Harry never said he liked me back, but because he didn't say he didn't fancy me, either, I suppose that flame of maybe never went out. But the longer it went on, I just accepted it wouldn't happen."

"So you never totally let it go?" Catrin asked gently.

Hermione shook her head. "I suppose I was waiting for that decisive moment ... his supernova of confirmation. I was waiting for that flash of light, like thunder screaming out for lightening. But it never came. So a tiny bit of me never gave up. I never had that last goodbye ... I never got over it ... and now ..."

"Harry's told you he likes you?" Catrin finished off shrewdly.

"His exact words were that I would be his perfect girlfriend," Hermione flushed. "What am I supposed to say to that?"

"You're supposed to offer to be his girlfriend ... but I assume you didn't?"

Hermione shook her head. "We both have partners, Mum."

"In relationships less than a month old," Catrin dismissed. "In your short lives, you've probably spent more time vomiting. I'll spend longer vomiting if I know you're dating that human matchstick model!"

Hermione laughed at that. "Mum, please! Don't say things like that! I'm trying to get some sage advice here."

"Is that what you want? Well, that's easy," Catrin grinned brightly. "Get shot of Ron before you get too deep in, and throw yourself at Harry like you've always wanted to. I swear that I've never seen a look in someone's eyes like he reserves for you. You find that sometimes, that the boys who are the quietest are the most intense, that love the fiercest and deepest. I'd call it love ... but somehow it doesn't seem enough with how Harry looks at you. What else could I use? Adoration? Worship? Even they don't quite hit the spot. Whatever it is, if someone looks at you like that you want to keep them. So keep him."

Hermione didn't know how to even process that statement, let alone how to reply to it. So she just goggled at her mother with her mouth hanging open for a full minute.

"You ... you really mean that, don't you?" Hermione muttered eventually.

"Of course I do," Catrin replied. "Harry is the best thing to happen to you ... has always been the best thing to happen to you. Ever since you first met him."

Hermione grinned fondly as she remembered. "Yeah, that was a serendipitous train ride."

Now it was Catrin's turn to shift awkwardly. Hermione noticed it with a frown.

"Mum ... what's wrong?"

Catrin closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. "Harry has said something more, hasn't he? Apart from thinking you're perfect for him?"

Hermione blushed again at her mother's vocalisation of Harry's declaration. "Yes, he's asked me to look into why he isn't overtly attracted to me, despite his body telling him he should be. Why do you ask?"

Catrin looked at her daughter as seriously as she ever had. "Hermione, whatever you do in the next days and weeks ... follow this through. Forget helping me and your dad, forget whatever you had planned for this new relationship of yours. Focus on this ... focus on Harry. Make sure that supernova of yours never happens."

"Mum ... you aren't making any sense," Hermione replied breathlessly. "And you're scaring me a bit. What's going on?"

"I'm just saying ... do you remember the first time you and Harry met?" Catrin asked cryptically.

"Of course I do!"

"Dont be so sure," Catrin warned. "What I'm trying to tell you is ... if you don't investigate this ... you and Harry will never meet."

Hermione felt all colour leave her body, her breath, too. "Who told you that?"

Catrin blinked simply at her daughter. "You did."