Chapter Forty-six

Araminta bundled up tightly in a cloak, scarf, and gloves that she borrowed from Draco (so of course they were too big for her, and she had to Transfigure them to fit). Even though it was only the first weekend in September it was bitterly cold and a strange, icy storm had blown in. Icicles hung down from the eaves of the roof and almost touched the ground. The world outside was transformed into a winter wonderland.

Even though she had a job to do, Araminta couldn't help getting involved in a snowball fight. People had built big walls of snow to hide behind, and a few scattered snowmen stood guard in between (although their heads were rapidly being diminished by the onslaught of ice missiles).

The Creevey brothers tried to put snow down Araminta's shirt, but she dispatched them with a handy judo move that Harry had taught her. He'd said that he had used it against someone named Dudley who was as big as a whale, so Araminta was pleased that it put the boys, who were no bigger than gnats, face first into the snow. They took it good-naturedly and invited Araminta to go to the Three Broomsticks for a butterbeer, which was a reminder to Araminta that she really needed to get going if she was going to shop and put her romantic plan into action before the end of the day.

Araminta used a drying and warming charm to make her cloak toasty, then set off for the village of Hogsmeade. The snow swirled around and over the tops of her boots, and her feet got squishy inside them, but she hurried along anyway. There was so much to do!

When she got to the main street of Hogsmeade, Araminta couldn't help peeking in the windows of Zonko's Joke Shop, Madam Puddifoot's, and Honeyduke's. She felt her mouth water when she glimpsed the enchanted chocolates, Fizzing Whizbees, and sherbet lemons that were arranged in an attractive display that resembled a Quidditch match in the front of the store.

"Oh yeah," Araminta remembered. "I need to shop for something for the Quidditch Ball. I wonder what I should be," she mused aloud.

Suddenly, she saw a figure come out of the falling snow with its head bent down in sorrow or despair. This was it! Araminta's big chance! She hurried forward to meet the big bushy head of Hermione.

"Hey, Mo--um, hey Hermione," she said, stepping directly into Hermione's path.

"What do you want?" Hermione asked coldly.

"Well, I was wondering if you wanted to go shopping together. You know, maybe we could bond, spend money, have a butterbeer, gossip..."

"That doesn't sound like my idea of a very good time," said Hermione in an icy voice. "Really, I'd just like to get my errands done and get back to the castle. If you'd just let me pass--"

"I'm sorry!" Araminta yelled suddenly. She had to stop Hermione from going on her merry way. "I'm sorry for the way I've acted all these years."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Yes, it does seem like I've known you for years. It also feels like I've been standing about in the snow for years, and if I don't get inside soon I'll probably get frostbite, which I will have to blame on you. Now, if you please," said Hermione, "could you let me pass?"

When Hermione tried to step around Araminta, she found her path blocked.

"I have a very important question to ask you, actually," Araminta said quickly. "I can't think of a better person to ask."

"Fine. What is it?" Hermione snapped. "Hurry up! I'm freezing!"

"Well, um, do you have a mom?" said Araminta.

"Of course I have a mom," said Hermione. "Is that all?"

"No, actually," said Araminta. "Could you tell me about her?"

"My mom is a dentist, like my dad. She's a Muggle, and she doesn't know much about being a witch. She takes me to France in the summers. She doesn't worry about me too much, and she's rather brilliant, in my opinion," said Hermione.

"So would you--would you want to be a mom someday?" said Araminta. "Are you going to have kids with anyone?"

Hermione turned a blushing shade of red. "Well...I...I suppose I would have children with the right man. I don't just want to have babies for nothing, you know. I want to be in love," she said.

"Me too," Araminta agreed. "So, if you wanted to have babies, what kind of guy would you want to have them with?"

"Well, I should be in love, obviously. Married would be the best, don't you agree?" Hermione's voice grew softer. "I'd want to have children with someone who made my blood boil with anger and passion and dedication, that's who I'd want to have children with."

Araminta nodded. She knew that Draco could make your blood boil; he had a way of finding the very thing to make you fierce. "And if you...if you had to have a daughter, what would you want her to be like?"

Hermione's face got a dreamy expression on it. "I'd want her to have his silky blond hair, his stormy eyes...I'd want her to sing like a phoenix and love like a swan: for life," she answered with a gentle smile.

"So you'd want her to be something like me?" asked Araminta.

Hermione laughed a cold laugh that put a splinter of ice right through Araminta's tender heart. "Whatever. Are we done playing twenty questions? Like I said, I have errands to run and I'm kind of cold."

"Okay." Araminta rummaged in her pocket, feeling cold even though she had on a magically heated cloak. "Um, I was going to see the Trollish Ballet today, but I don't really feel like it anymore. Would you like the ticket? I heard the seat is supposed to be pretty good."

Hermione's eyes opened wide. "The Trollish Ballet? You'd give me your ticket, even though I...well, I haven't been very nice, have I?" she asked.

Araminta couldn't think of anything nice to say so she decided to be the bigger person and not say anything at all. "Take it." She pressed the ticket into Hermione's palm, then stepped back and watched Hermione practically skip across the snow to the theater.

A hot butterbeer warmed Araminta right up, and from the window of The Three Broomsticks, she could see the front of the theater and not freeze to death. At intermission, Hermione came running out the front doors of the theater, sobbing. A second later, Draco followed her out, stopping on the steps to look after her retreating form.

"Back to the drawing board," said Araminta, swigging the last of her butterbeer. Maybe shopping would go better than this morning had.